


Seeker, Chaser, Keeper

by VivacissimoVoce



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Competition, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Quidditch, Romance, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:42:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 59,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivacissimoVoce/pseuds/VivacissimoVoce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumor has it that a wealthy investor is starting up a brand new professional Quidditch team and he’s looking for players.  Harry and Draco both want to make the team, but there can be only one Seeker.  Will competing for the position bring them closer or drive them further apart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling. I do not claim any ownership of the characters or settings contained within. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.
> 
> Author’s Note: I can’t get enough Drarry. This pairing is the perfect romantic writing challenge, and there are so many ways to envision their relationship. After finishing the first draft I spent about a month re-reading, revising, and restructuring this piece, but in the end I think the effort was worth it. Enjoy!

"Malfoy! Have you heard?"

Draco looked up from his breakfast and eyed Gregory Goyle with weary tolerance. His friend's moon-faced enthusiasm was the last thing he wanted invading his space first thing in the morning. He was exhausted and he wasn't in the mood for guessing games.

"Heard what, Goyle?" he sighed. "What, of all of the innumerable happenings at Hogwarts, am I supposed to have heard about?"

"About the Quidditch recruiters!" Goyle looked so eager to please. It sickened Draco enough that he had to look away.

"I haven't the foggiest notion what you're talking about."

"Here," Blaise Zabini slipped a Daily Prophet across the table with an understanding grimace. "There's a group of investors starting up a new team for the pro circuit. London based."

Draco scanned the sports column for the rest of the details. London based, signing players, looking to buy out contracts and recruiting from highly ranked school teams.

"They've been at Durmstrang for the last week," Blaise added, smugly emphasizing his inside scoop. "They picked up a couple of Beater draftees, I hear."

"How do you know that?" Millicent was not so subtly eavesdropping and couldn't keep her mouth shut any longer.

"I've got connections at Durmstrang," Blaise said vaguely.

"A cousin is not a connection," Draco corrected him.

"The recruiters are supposed to arrive this week," Goyle said, trying to bring the conversation back to a topic he could contribute to.

"Buying up little school children for their rosters," Draco snorted.

"Just final-years," Goyle said, using the parlance that had replaced "seventh-years" now that Hogwarts was hosting a class of eighth-year students whose previous term had been interrupted by the war.

"Don't pretend you're not interested," Blaise leaned forward on his elbows.

"Why would I be interested?" Draco sneered.

"The chance to play for a professional Quidditch team? The adoration of fans? The publicity? Yeah, that sounds like the kind of rubbish you’d hate.”

"I'd much rather own a team than play on one," Draco said. He scooped up his satchel and strode from the great hall before he could be questioned again. He was lying. His friends knew he was lying. He knew his friends knew he was lying. But he wouldn't be caught dead aspiring for something he wasn't sure he could get.

He made his way to his first class of the morning and arrived well in advance of his classmates. He sat back with his leg crossed over his knee and read the paper as other eighth-year students gradually trickled in. His robe was unfastened and draped to the floor in billowing folds, his white button-down and tie with its silver Slytherin pin were on display. He was as comfortable here as he would have been in the drawing room back at the manor. Perhaps more so, given how much of his life he had spent at a Hogwarts desk.

As the start of class neared the door clattered open as Weasley tripped across the threshold, his attention fixed over his shoulder rather than ahead. Behind him, of course, were his sodding Gryffindor counterparts, equally graceless and oblivious to their surroundings.

"--sign the contract," Weasley was saying as they entered. Granger shushed him and Harry glanced furtively around the room to see if anyone was paying attention.

Fortunately, Draco was quite skilled at listening without looking. He scanned the classified section of the paper, his ears tuned to the front row where the threesome were settling in.

"I didn't say whether I would or not," Harry said under his breath. "I need to find out what my options are first."

"It's a good offer, Harry," Granger said quietly.

"I know," Harry's voice was flat.

It didn't take a clairvoyant to know what they were talking about. If Goyle had known about the Quidditch recruiters, the whole school must be buzzing about it. Draco frowned to himself. By that logic he should have known before Goyle. It annoyed him to think he might be the last to find out.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," Harry sighed and combed his fingers through his hair. He hunched down in his seat like he was trying to hide from the conversation.

Draco couldn't blame him. If he had to contend with Granger's insufferable opinions, he'd try to hide from the conversation, too.

Professor Flitwick entered in a huff and prattled on about some morning mix-up with his parchments, but Draco only listened with half an ear. He was certain the Gryffindors had been talking about Harry's prospects with the Quidditch recruiters, but from the sound of it, there was already a contract in the offering. Had the recruiters already reached out to him? If so, it meant they had already identified him as their first-string Seeker and entertaining any thoughts of trying out would be pointless. Not that he would be trying out for anything.

Perhaps Harry had been approached by another team. He ground his teeth irritably at that thought. That was all Saint bloody Potter needed, a bidding war to inflate his already oversized ego. It wasn't enough that he defeated the Dark Lord, something Draco would never admit he was grateful for, he had to also be the Quidditch world's most coveted player.

He needed to know for sure. He wasn't going to be last to find out about this turn of events. He didn't have any particularly ruthless plans to get the information-- he'd sort of soured on the hostilities of youth-- but he still couldn't stand the idea of not knowing something like this.

After class he exited casually behind the Gryffindor trio and acted as though he just happened to be going the same direction as them. Which, come to think of it, he was. Shared class schedule and all. Harry stopped off in the boy's washroom on the second floor and waved his friends on without him. Draco paused at the drinking fountain and after a suitable pause he entered the washroom, too. Harry was zipping up at the urinal as Draco zipped down.

"Not fastening your robe anymore, Malfoy?" Harry looked at him through the mirror's reflection as he washed his hands.

"I'll fasten it as soon as anyone cares," Draco replied. He zipped his trousers and went to the sink. He had planned on asking about the recruiters right away but Harry had broken the silence first, and in such a non-confrontational way that Draco's whole rhythm was thrown off.

Harry stood awkwardly near the door, almost like he was waiting for Draco to finish. Wait, not almost, he really was waiting for Draco. Now his rhythm was way out of whack. He cleared his throat nervously and hefted his bag. Harry exited with him and they walked together down the corridor towards Potions class.

Draco didn't know what to say. Things had been decidedly less antagonistic since the war, but this was going a bit far. He pulled himself together and decided to ask directly before they reached the classroom and the opportunity was gone.

"So I heard--"

"Malfoy," Harry said at the same time. They both paused and gestured for each other to continue.

"A little birdy told me you've got pro Quidditch recruiters fighting for your affections," Draco said confidently.

"Is that news already?" Harry eyed Draco warily.

"Everything Saint Potter does is news," Draco said. "Why would this be any different?" He paused and then continued, "What isn't news is the fact that you've been approached by more than one recruiter." He hoped his bluff would draw information out of the Gryffindor boy.

"The London team hasn't made an offer yet. Just the Caerphilly Catapults."

Caerphilly Catapults? Bile rose in Draco’s throat. They were a notoriously good team with eighteen League Cup wins. If they had already made Potter an offer, the scramble to draft him would be intense. Of course, if Potter took the contract, that would leave the London team with a Seeker position to fill.

"Only a git like yourself would pass on the Catapults," Draco scoffed.

"The London team might be good, too," Harry's eyes darkened. He didn't like being called a git.

"Typical," Draco felt his annoyance rise. "Saint Potter needs so much attention that he wants both Seeker positions."

"You only want me to take the Caerphilly contract so you'll have a chance at the London team," Harry shot back.

"Are you implying I can’t win if you’re competing?" Draco's annoyance sharpened.

"When have you ever beaten me to the Snitch, Malfoy?"

"I'm faster than you any day of the week, Potter. And everyone knows it.”

"Well I guess we'll find out when the recruiters get here.”

"Beating you will be the easiest thing I've ever done.”

"Want to make it interesting?" Harry stuck his hand out to shake. "One hundred Galleons says I make the team."

Not to be outdone Draco seized his hand and crushed it in his grip. "And one hundred says I make the team."

"It's a wager," Harry squeezed harshly in return.

The class bell rang, sending them scrambling for the Potions classroom. Draco kept his expression even but inside he was fuming. His big mouth had gotten him into trouble again. He didn't want to compete against Potter, not when he knew as well as anyone else that he wouldn't win. He'd had a whole deflection plan in place where he would act disinterested unless assured of a win. Now he would have to compete for real. And that meant possibly losing. Probably losing. In public. Bollocks.

Draco arrived back at Slytherin House after lunch and searched the rooms for Miles Bletchley. He found him lying in bed, reading a copy of Witch Weekly, something Draco would never be caught dead doing.

"Catching up on this season's fashions?" he asked with false sincerity as he flopped onto the neighboring bed.

"Piss off, Malfoy," Miles held the magazine up with a glare, "Have you ever looked at one of these? Loads of birds."

"Pathetic," Draco arched an eyebrow disapprovingly.

"What do you want?" Miles sighed and shoved the magazine under his mattress.

"Want to hit the pitch? Do a bit of one on one?" Draco asked.

"Thinking about trying out?" Miles needed no context, everyone was thinking about the recruiters. "I heard you said you weren't going to try."

"Of course I'm going to try out," Draco snorted. "Who else is going to represent Slytherin's skills?"

"Me," Miles looked offended.

"Then you really need to get down to the pitch with me," Draco stood and socked Miles in the shoulder. "You're a rubbish Keeper."

"Am not!" Miles jumped to his feet. "Come on."

They exited the school and hustled down to the pitch in the warm May air. It would be cooler once they were aloft, but Draco hoped their lightweight kit was cleaned and ready. They hurriedly changed in the locker room and then retrieved their brooms from the shed. Miles' was tattered from lack of care and maintenance. Draco's was pristine.

"Merlin, Malfoy, it looks like you've never flown that thing," Miles said as he mounted and kicked off. The afternoon sunlight glinted off of the green and silver embroidery along his tunic.

"If you ever cleaned and polished yours it would look this good, too," Draco kicked off and immediately sped past Miles to the goal hoops. "Look lively, Bletchley."

They squared off and Draco lobbed a Quaffle at Miles for a while, doing his best to dodge and dart around to test his agility. It was a good warm-up exercise but he needed distance and speed. He tossed the practice Snitch at his teammate and pointed off towards the school.

"As far and as fast as you can," he called.

Miles shook his wand into his hand and tossed the little golden ball into the air. He flicked and with a spark it fired off towards the horizon. Draco leaned forward and was after it like a shot.

His adrenaline surged as he squinted against the glare of the sun, his goggles obscuring just the fringes of his peripheral vision. He could see the tiny glint of the ball as it sailed away into the distance and focused on steady acceleration to close the gap. He knew better than to let go and reach with either hand until he was within range. That was how foolish accidents happened. He was no fool.

Miles must have put something extra behind his deflection spell because the ball was still going. It was well beyond the bounds of the pitch and was heading up towards the castle at full speed. Draco kept his eyes open for casual broomstick riders as he tore toward the gabled rooftops. The ball was starting to lose momentum and arc towards the ground and Draco canted his weight to the side to angle sharply towards an intersection point.

Bollocks, it was heading directly towards the courtyard. He leaned forward and kicked an extra burst of speed from his Nimbus. There it was, right in front of him, if he could just reach it in time. He dove recklessly towards the flagstone lined courtyard and finally outstretched his hand. With a deft sweep he snatched the ball out of the air and hauled up on the broomstick. Students shrieked and scattered in terror as he leveled off mere inches from the ground.

He took a chance and planted his feet, then bailed out and leaped off of the broom to run off the last of his momentum. His boots pounded the stone and he wheeled his arms to slow down, and for a moment he thought he would actually stick the landing. Then his heel struck an uneven crack and he toppled into the lap of a sixth-year Ravenclaw girl who was sitting on a bench beneath a fig tree.

She yelped in surprise as his head plopped into her lap like an adoring suitor. She blushed instantly and covered her face with her hands.

The rest of the courtyard was silent. Draco was stunned for a fragment of a second as he did a quick mental once-over to make sure he wasn't hurt. Miraculously his ankle wasn't even twisted. And, as a bonus, the practice snitch was still in his hand. He beamed up at the girl, who was peeking through her fingers at him.

"Sorry, love," he said winningly. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

He hopped to his feet and bowed, then turned to retrieve his broom. The other students applauded and cheered at the performance as he hopped back onto his Nimbus and kicked off.

He sailed up over the courtyard and circled once, then leaned forward and sped off towards the pitch. He grinned to himself as the wind roared in his ears. He couldn't have asked for a better reaction from his schoolmates. He had to admit to himself that he adored adoration. And for that reason alone, making the pro Quidditch team would be worthwhile. And suddenly, just like that, he wanted it. Not to beat Potter, not for the wager, but because he wanted it. Which meant he had better bloody well beat Potter and win the wager because the stakes were now higher.


	2. Chapter 2

"Harry! Did you see that?"

Harry squinted at the receding green and silver dot and nodded grimly. Ron mounted the steps from the courtyard and shook his head in wonder.

"I saw it," Harry said. "He's lucky to have walked away from that."

"Bloody stupid of him to have tried," Ron harrumphed.

Harry grunted noncommittally. He couldn't say he wouldn't have been as reckless in pursuit of the Snitch. Maybe not a practice Snitch but certainly a game Snitch. Especially if the score was close. He'd done worse.

"You don't think he's going out for the new team, do you?" Ron's face reflected the dismay he apparently felt at the idea.

"Of course he is," Harry hauled open the oversized front door and re-entered the school. He blinked to adjust his eyes to the dim interior lighting. "Especially now that we put a wager on it."

"You did what?" Ron squeaked. "You know Malfoy will do anything to beat you. Anything," he emphasized.

"I think he'll fight fair this time," Harry shook his head, trying to quell the doubt in his own heart. "He won't want anyone saying he made the team by cheating."

"Are you mad?" Ron spluttered. "Have you met him?"

"You may be right," Harry said. "But I think he'll compete for real. If he was just going to hex me I don't think he would be out practicing."

"Maybe," Ron looked dubious.

They ascended the stairs to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione was nestled down on a sofa with homework spread around her, so naturally Ron stopped in the hopes of distracting her with a bit of light snogging. Harry rolled his eyes and continued on to his room. He tossed his bag onto his bed and went to the window, squinting into the distance at the far away Quidditch pitch.

He knelt by the bed and shuffled through a box of his belongings until he found his Omnioculars, then returned to the window for some unabashed spying. He twiddled the dials until Draco and Miles Bletchley came into focus, close enough now to see clearly.

Draco's hair was windblown and golden in the late afternoon sunlight. He was laughing at something Miles had said, his eyes crinkled and his mouth open in delight. Harry had seen that look before, but it galled him that he had to spy to see it. Whenever Draco looked at Harry, the smile soured and became a sneer, whether the situation warranted it or not.

He sighed and followed the two Slytherin players as they hurled the Quaffle back and forth. Things had been quieter since the war, Draco hadn't shown any overt remorse but he was certainly more sober, slower to anger, slower to attack. He had kept to himself all year, hardly rising to insult Harry, even on those occasions when he could admit to himself that he might have deserved it.

He watched as Draco spiraled around on his broom and snatched the Quaffle easily as Miles tried to chuck it past him. Then he turned in mid-air and gazed towards the castle with a radiant smile, and for a split second Harry was certain he could see him spying from the tower. He gasped and jumped back, hiding the Omnioculars behind his back.

"Don't be daft," he muttered to himself. It was a reflexive reaction. He had been dodging Draco's gaze for years, first because he hated him, and then because he liked him. Although it wasn't that he liked-him-liked-him, it was that he found him terribly attractive. He never thought Draco Malfoy was anything but a prat, but even a prat could be good-looking.

He crept back to the window and raised the Omnioculars to his eyes. Draco had been so subdued since his return. Seeing him smile and laugh with sincerity was nice, even if he had to sneak a look like a creepy peeping Tom to get a glimpse.

He checked over his shoulder to make sure he was alone and then slipped his free hand over the zipper of his trousers. He'd wanked to the idea of Draco Malfoy before, as he had to the idea of many other boys, but he'd never had a chance to do so while actively looking at him. Seemed like a wasted opportunity if he didn't--

"We're going for an early supper," Ron wheeled around the doorway and dangled casually into the room. "Want to come?"

Harry froze and kept his posture casual. He hefted the Omnioculars to distract Ron's attention from his other hand, which he slipped off of his zipper and into his pocket.

"I guess so," he said with a bored air. "I'm not learning much from this anyway." He stowed his Omnioculars in his trunk and followed Ron down the stairs.

"You aren't looking to steal his moves are you?" Ron asked. "You're better than him any day of the week."

"Yeah but it's a try-out," Harry was relieved that he had successfully distracted Ron from a potentially embarrassing situation. "The kind flashy show he put on today might appeal to a professional recruiter."

“He’s right,” Hermione stood as they entered the common room. “It’s not good enough to win games. A good team has to build a loyal following who will come watch them play and buy their merchandise.”

“But if they want to win, they’ll need Harry,” Ron clapped his hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry wished he was so confident. He knew he was good, there was no doubt about it. In fact, he hadn’t lost a race to the snitch yet. In the small world of Hogwarts’ house wars he was unbeatable. But this was pro Quidditch they were talking about. He would be up against the best players in the world. He’d never been tested at that level before.

They joined their housemates in the Great Hall and of course the sole topic of conversation was the recruiters and the show Draco had put on in the courtyard. Harry grimaced. He hoped he hadn’t jinxed himself by making that wager. He would hate to lose out and have to pay his rival a hundred Galleons in front of everyone. Maybe he should just take the Caerphilly Catapults’ offer and call off the bet.

The doors to the great hall swung open and Draco Malfoy swaggered in with Miles Bletchley at his heels, both still wearing their kit. The room hushed momentarily, and then buzzed loudly as everyone recounted the story of his courtyard dive for anyone who hadn’t heard yet. Harry focused his attention on his plate and pretended he hadn’t noticed.

Suddenly a body flopped down on the bench next to him. Harry looked up in surprise and found Draco Malfoy leaning comfortably on one elbow and smirking at him. He was a bit close for Harry’s comfort, close enough to smell the sweat still drying on his skin.

“Did you catch the show earlier?” Draco asked arrogantly.

“Yes I did,” Harry said as he took a sip from his cup. He hoped his manner seemed disinterested, maybe even bored.

“Scared, Potter?” Draco raised an eyebrow and grinned challengingly.

“You wish,” Harry sneered, echoing the rivalry of their youth. Draco’s expression flickered, softening for just a moment as he caught the echo.

“You know, I should have asked Gringotts to run a credit check on you,” Draco’s arrogance returned swiftly. “I’m not sure I think you have a hundred Galleons to pay me with when I win this bet.”

“If you think risking your life diving after practice balls will get you on the team, you’re daft,” Harry turned his attention back to his supper. “They’re not stupid enough to prefer that over my unbroken winning streak.”

Draco’s eyes darkened. He leaned forward and opened his mouth, undoubtedly to say something nasty.

“Mister Malfoy,” Headmistress McGonagall’s voice rang out from the head table. “Please return to your seat.”

Draco stood and regarded Harry coldly for a defiant moment, then joined his housemates at the Slytherin table. Harry gritted his teeth and fumed with the familiar frustration that always followed a confrontation with Draco Malfoy. He tried to turn his attention to the conversation at his own table, but he couldn’t help overhearing the lavish praise Draco’s housemates were heaping on him for his performance. If the recruiters were anything like Slytherins, they would be totally swayed by the kind of flashy play that Draco seemed to prefer. Harry was no stranger to dramatic risks on the Quidditch pitch, but it was always in pursuit of a win, never for the sake of the audience. But maybe in the pro world being the better athlete wouldn’t be enough.

“What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?” Harry suddenly asked Ron, interrupting his conversation with Seamus.

“I don’t know,” Ron frowned. “Studying with Hermione?”

“I need you to practice with me.”

“I’m not going out for the team, Harry,” Ron looked confused.

“I know, but I need your help,” Harry said. “I need to make sure I’m playing my best next week and I need someone to play against.”

“I’m a shite Keeper and you know it,” Ron shook his head. “I don’t know how much use I’ll be.”

“Any help will be great,” Harry said gratefully.

“Ahem,” Hermione cocked her head disapprovingly. “Ron needs to study for the Herbology final.”

“I can do both,” Ron protested. “I’ll put in some practice with Harry and then study with you afterwards.”

“Don’t keep him out flying for hours,” Hermione glowered at Harry. “You may have given up on your dream of becoming an Auror, but he hasn’t.”

Harry ducked his head guiltily and looked away. She was right, the instant the Caerphilly Catapults had contacted him, he had put his Auror plans on hold. He knew Hermione didn’t approve. He suspected his teachers wouldn’t approve. They all seemed to think he owed it to himself and the wizarding community to become an Auror and continue on his predestined path against the forces of evil. But maybe he was done fighting evil, at least for a while. Maybe he deserved a break. Maybe he didn’t need to jump straight from defeating the greatest Dark Wizard of all time to joining up with the Auror Academy. Maybe he had earned some time off.

But he couldn’t say that, certainly not to Hermione. She wouldn’t understand. She would think he was off his rocker. She would check him for fever and send him to the infirmary. She would tell Molly Weasley on him.

“Of course they’ll offer me a contract,” Draco’s voice cut through his thoughts like a blade. “And if they don’t, I’ll buy a majority share in the team and offer myself a contract.” His friends bellowed with laughter.

Harry pushed his plate away and mumbled something about homework, then exited the great hall with a falsely casual gait. He could feel Draco’s eyes on him, he knew he was being watched. He just hoped his posturing was convincing and the Slytherin boy couldn’t tell how rattled he was.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco watched as Harry Potter excused himself from supper. He stood gracefully and ambled out of the Great Hall as though he had no concerns, no stress. It irked Draco to think life was always so easy for Saint bloody Potter. A contract from Caerphilly Catapults fell out of the sky, and undoubtedly the recruiters for the new team would be very interested in him. And if all of that fell apart, he’d be a shoo-in for the Auror Academy. The world was his oyster. Who did he think he was?

What an unbelievable prat. The Dark Lord was dead, and he was still getting everything he wanted. It was like there was no justice in the world. If there were any balance to the universe, Potter would have to spend several years as a pariah to make up for the years that the wizarding community spent fawning over his every move. But there was no balance. The seeker position would probably be handed to him on a silver platter. In fact, Draco wouldn’t be surprised if the recruiters didn’t intend to hold tryouts after all, and they were only coming to offer that bloody Gryffindor boy a contract and a mound of cash.

Draco hauled himself up short, realizing his gaze had lingered too long. He blamed Potter’s arse. Where did he get off having an arse like that? Draco couldn’t even remember the first time he’d noticed it. It was like one year it was a normal adolescent arse, and then the next it was the firm, muscular, taut arse of a well-toned athlete. It made his hands want to do squeezy things and his teeth want to do bitey things, and that wouldn’t do at all.

He scowled his way back to the dungeons and laid awake late into the night thinking about the recruiters. By training today and inadvertently making a public spectacle of the activity, he’d made a clear statement of his intent to try out for the team. If it did turn out that there had never been any chance he would look like a fool. And even though he knew on some level that Harry would have nothing to do with that turn of events, it was somehow his fault anyway.

Draco was grumpy the next morning, grumpy through breakfast and grumpy through class and grumpy through lunch. He almost told Miles not to bother with practice again, until he remembered the wager. If there was a shred of a chance that he could make this team, he needed to make a concerted effort. So he did his best to pull himself together and headed down to the field with his housemate.

“If you make the team you’ll have to get me season tickets. In a luxury box, of course,” Miles said as they changed. “That’s how you can thank me.”

“Oh, is that how I can thank you?” Draco smirked condescendingly. Miles was nowhere near skilled enough as a Keeper to bother going out for the pro team. Fortunately he knew it, so Draco wasn’t put in the position of having to shatter his dreams.

They retrieved their brooms from the shed and walked out to the pitch. A shout from above drew their attention, and they both craned their necks up at the same time.

“Potter,” Draco snarled.

“I guess they got here first,” Miles said.

“I think they’re about finished,” Draco said icily as he kicked off. “Come on.”

Weasley noticed their ascent first. He called out to Harry and pointed one red and gold clad arm with obvious outrage.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" Harry swung towards them, his goggles obscuring his expression. "We were here first."

"I think it's time you packed it in for the day," Draco shot back, letting go with his hands so he could settle his own protective eyewear.

"Fuck off, Malfoy," Weasley called from the goal hoops. Miles circled like a predator, waiting for Draco to give him the word to move in.

"Look," Harry held his hands up appeasingly between his best mate and his rival. "It's a big pitch. You guys take the the other hoops and we'll stay over here."

"You'd better not get in my way," Draco said warningly. "Come on, Miles."

They sailed over to the other end of the pitch and Miles positioned himself in front of the away team's hoops with a bit of trepidation. Draco could tell he was trying to figure out if they'd won or lost the confrontation. Draco considered it a draw. Perhaps a few years ago he would have pushed harder, attacked Harry with a fast curse. But he had to admit to himself that that would have been silly since, as he had said, the pitch was big and there were other hoops.

It was a kind of thinking that was new to him, one that could accept that his opponent didn't have to be crushed in order for Draco to come out ahead. When he was younger he always felt winning was a bit lackluster unless his opponent was thoroughly destroyed. These days he lacked the energy to doggedly pursue that kind of petty victory.

He batted the Quaffle past Miles and shook his head as the other boy lunged and missed it. He'd been a good enough Keeper at first, but he hadn't stuck with training and lacked focus now. He had admitted during yesterday's practice that he knew it would be foolish to go out for the pro team, but he wondered if he would change his mind once the recruiters were on site. He suspected there would be a lot of delusional hopefuls at tryouts. He hoped he wasn't one of them.

He glanced over his shoulder as Miles descended ground to pick up the missed Quaffle. Harry was circling Weasley at top speed and goading him into throwing the practice snitch as hard as he could. Surely that ginger tosser knew better than to try out.

Weasley lobbed the practice snitch into the air and flicked his wand, repelling the ball and sending it arching across the lush green lawn in front of the school. Harry took off after it at top speed.

Without thinking, Draco leaned forward and tore as fast as he could towards the receding golden ball. He heard a shout and knew Weasley had at spotted him. Oh well, he was nowhere near fast enough to catch Draco at this distance. He stole a glance over his shoulder and caught sight of Harry closing the gap faster than he expected. Merlin, he was bloody fast.

"That's my Snitch!" Harry shouted as he neared. He pulled up alongside Draco and took a risky swipe, trying to knock him off balance.

"Not if I get it first," Draco leaned forward and tried to urge another burst of speed from his straining broom.

"Fuck off and chase your own," Harry's teeth were bared as he grimaced into the wind.

"Where's the sport in that?" Draco kicked out with his left foot and caught Harry on the hip, pushing him just enough off course to change his trajectory. Draco wobbled dangerously as he tried to resecure his grip around the handle, but he was headed straight for the descending ball.

Harry cursed vehemently and pulled up sharply, taking a steeper angle towards the Snitch. Draco stretched his hand out, determined to get it first. Harry kicked hard and lunged forward, his fingers straining towards the golden practice ball. Draco laid out flat along the length of his broom and reached as far as his shoulder would stretch. And with a downward swing he scooped the ball out of the air.

"Fuck!" Harry bellowed, barrelling past as Draco hauled up on his broom to slow down. "You bloody bastard!"

"Call me whatever you like, Potter," Draco grinned triumphantly, his heart racing in his chest, "but I got the Snitch."

"Practice Snitch," Harry shouted as he circled around in an arc and headed back towards him. "Real Snitches don't travel in a straight line and slow down."

"Don't be bitter about it, Potter," Draco lobbed the practice ball at his rival, who snatched it deftly out of the air without looking.

"I'm not bitter about it," Harry pocketed the ball. "If we were playing a game of fetch I'd congratulate you heartily. But as far as Quidditch goes, I'm still the better Seeker."

"I guess we'll see about that," Draco said with an acidic smile.

Harry's mouth furrowed angrily. Even still, and even in those goofy flight goggles, he was a handsome man. Draco licked his lips unconsciously and tried not to notice. He smiled winningly and cocked his head towards the pitch.

"Last one back is a boggart's bunghole!" he said as he spun around and darted off towards Miles and Weasley.

He heard Harry curse again, caught off guard by the challenge. Draco had beaten him to the practice Snitch and was now far ahead of him as they rocketed for the away team's goal hoops. It was good that he was off kilter. Anything that could rattle his nerves would only serve to improve Draco's chances.

He passed Miles, not easing up until he was well over the pitch and undeniably the winner. He sped past Weasley, nearly knocking him off of his Firebolt.

"Draco Malfoy wins again!" he called as he circled back towards Harry.

"That doesn't count, you cheated," Harry yelled, swiveling his head to follow Draco. "You had a head start."

"I can just see you saying that to a League Cup official," Draco scoffed. "It's not fair!" he said in a whiny voice.

"You've turned into a complete nutter, Malfoy," Harry drew up close and yanked his goggles off. His green eyes flashed angrily.

Draco felt a surge of satisfaction he hadn’t felt since long before the war. It was the feeling he got when he knew he had crawled under Harry Potter's skin and fully grabbed his attention. It was a thrill he used to crave but hadn’t felt in a long time. He'd become dulled to the sensation in recent years, too tired to try since the war. But there it was again, delicious and thrilling and forbidden. He was certain Harry enjoyed it, too. Maybe not the same way Draco enjoyed it, but certainly on some level he had to get something out of it.

"What are you grinning at you arsehole?" Harry demanded, drawing closer, sliding laterally through the air.

"Just thinking about what I'm going to do with your money when I make the team," Draco laughed. It was absolutely hilarious the way he couldn't stop Draco from needling him.

Suddenly Harry swung out with a balled up fist and socked him in the jaw. Draco let go of his broom in surprise and in a strange slow motion he felt himself tumble free and float towards the ground. Except he knew he wasn't floating, he was plummeting at a discouragingly fast rate, and the ground rising to meet him was going to crush him senseless. It just went to show that you can't buy class, he thought calmly as the flat green approached.

"Draco!" Miles dove with lightning reflexes and caught his arm just before he struck the ground. With a sickening wrench he felt his shoulder socket pop as the joint dislocated. A searing pain lanced through him, knocking the breath out of him and rendering his initial scream silent.

He hauled in a lungful of air and funneled it into his next scream, "Fuck!" he shouted long and loud as Miles brought him in for a landing. He collapsed in a heap and rolled in agony with his arm flopping uselessly at his side. "You broke my fucking arm!" he wailed.

"I was trying to catch you!" Miles was instantly on the defense. "Potter is the one who knocked you down!"

"Malfoy!" Harry and Weasley landed a short distance away and ran to him.

"Get away!" Draco swung wildly with his good arm and staggered to his feet. He was filled with so much pain that he could hardly see straight.

"Ron, can you fix it?" Harry asked Weasley, his voice colored with desperation. Of course he knew he would be in big trouble once Draco reported the event, which he most certainly would, and if it got Harry expelled or ruined his chance to sign with a pro team then that was what he deserved. Because fucking hell, his arm hurt!

"No fucking way, Potter," Draco fell to his knees again, clutching his dislocated shoulder. "No way I'm letting the Weasel cast a spell anywhere near me."

"Probably turn his arm into jelly," Miles sneered.

"He's got five brothers, he knows how to fix a dislocated arm," Harry protested. He reached out as though to stabilize his shoulder.

"Piss off," Draco flinched away from Harry's touch.

"You piss off," Weasley shouted back. "He's trying to help!"

Harry's expression was a mixture of horror and shock. He was wracked with guilt and maybe even empathy for his rival's pain. Under less agonizing conditions Draco might have thought of ways to leverage his guilty conscience but for now all he could do was observe it and try not to jostle his arm.

"Then you need the infirmary," Harry insisted. "Let me take you, at least. It's too far to walk like that." He stood and straddled his Nimbus expectantly.

"Bollocks," Draco spat. But he did need healing and he didn't trust Miles to ride tandem without crashing. So what could he do?

He stood on wobbly knees, the initial rush of adrenaline leaving him shaky. He wondered if he was going into shock. He gingerly stepped one leg over the broom and reached his uninjured arm around Harry's waist. Harry grasped his wrist tightly and kicked off, sailing slowly towards the castle, mere inches above the ground.

"Put some muscle behind it, Potter," Draco snarled in his ear. "I'd like to get there before my arm falls off."

"I don't want to risk dropping you," Harry said over his shoulder.

"You won't.”

Of course he wouldn't. He hadn't dropped Draco in the Room of Hidden Things when the Fiendfyre broke out. If he could snatch Draco out of death's cold grip and fly him to safety, he could carry him to the infirmary.

Still, he held on tightly. His left arm was a mess of pain and he didn't relish the idea of tumbling again. Harry tightened his hold on Draco's wrist and picked up speed, rising a bit to ensure they would clear the uneven rolling terrain.

Draco ducked his head behind Harry's to shield himself from the wind. He could smell the other boy's shampoo, sort of a spicy, citrusy scent. His red and gold Gryffindor tunic smelled of leather and sweat, and Draco was glad for the distraction of pain to keep undesirable thoughts from entering his head.

They landed just outside of the door that led to the infirmary. Harry released Draco so Draco could release Harry. He stepped clear of the broom and tried not to move his arm.

"Are you going to tell Madam Pomfrey what happened?" Harry asked. He knew Draco had the upper hand.

Draco eyed his rival thoughtfully for a moment. There was a time in his life when he wouldn't have thought twice about throwing Harry bloody Potter on the mercy of the school administrators, maybe even greasing the wheels with some pressure from his father. He could feel the shape of the phrase, "my father will hear about this," on his tongue like it was a mantra.

But this was where the war had changed things. First of all, his father wouldn't hear about this, not from his cell in Azkaban. Second of all, what would be the point of getting Harry kicked out of school now? Thirdly, how could he ignore that thrill of confrontation, the very rush he had been savoring just moments before Harry had socked him and knocked him off of his broom? Who else could make him feel that alive? Certainly none of his friends.

"Of course I'm going to tell her," Draco said archly. "I was diving for the practice Snitch and lost my grip on my broom."

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. It was clear he hadn't expected that answer. That, Draco thought, could be a worthwhile substitute for passing up the opportunity to destroy his academic career. Surprising him with an uncharacteristic moment of clemency felt rather good.

"Do you want me to help you up the stairs?" Harry made a move toward the door.

And there it was, goody goody Gryffindor ruining the moment. Draco sighed in annoyance. "No, Potter. How will the story hold up of you're there with me, with your dopey owl-eyed guilt telling the truth?"

"Right," Harry's mouth pressed into a tight line. "Fine then. Good luck." He stepped back onto his broom and kicked off without so much as a thank you for Draco's generosity.


	4. Chapter 4

"He must be planning something awful," Hermione shook her head, her curly hair bouncing around her shoulders. Ron reached out and brushed a stray curl back from her forehead in a gentle show of affection. Harry looked away uncomfortably.

"I don't think so," Harry disagreed. "I still think he wants a real competition for once. He wants to beat me fair and square."

"If there are two words I would never use to describe Draco Malfoy, they would be fair and square," Ron pointed his finger definitively.

"Quiet," Madam Pince shushed him from the stacks. Ron ducked his head.

"He tried to steal your practice Snitch," Ron whispered so loudly that he might as well have just been using his normal voice.

"No he didn't," Harry shook his head again. "He only wanted to beat me to it. He gave it back without a fight."

"Why are you defending him?" Hermione looked offended.

"I'm not!" Harry held his hands out appeasingly. "I'm just saying what I think. He obviously still hates me, and he clearly wants to make the new team if for no other reason than to deny me the opportunity."

"Yeah well, see how well that goes," Ron snorted. "You're a shoo-in."

"If I don't choke at tryouts," Harry reminded him. "Maybe that's all his plan is. Get inside my head so I won't be able to perform for the recruiters."

"That's terrible," Hermione frowned and opened her textbook. "But enough about Quidditch. It's all anyone is talking about anymore. Some of us still need to do well on the N.E.W.T.s," she looked pointedly at Ron.

Ron and Harry obediently dropped the subject. To her point, Harry was still considering the Auror Academy as an option. With the way things were going, he was starting to think Quidditch might not be worth the stress. Besides, at some point he would be past his prime and retire, and at that point maybe he'd want to join up with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

May was already halfway over. That meant the recruiters would be holding tryouts during the last week before exams, which would put their studying time at risk. Harry wished there was any information available about what tryouts would be like. If it was just one day or an exhibition game it wouldn't be too much of an interruption. If it was several days of exercises and competitions, it could be problematic.

He was sleeping poorly these days. He dreamed intensely of Quidditch, of Snitches that couldn't be caught, of collisions and failure. And in the middle of it all, the handsome, mocking smile of Draco Malfoy beating him in the chase.

But sometimes the dreams were different. Sometimes he dreamed of the smile he saw through the Omnioculars. Unguarded, happy, not spiteful or nasty or angry. Those dreams were nicer, although sometimes he awoke turned on and hard and he needed a quick release in the shower before anyone else got up.

He managed to avoid overlapping practice time with Draco again until Saturday. And given how many free hours there were in the day to choose from, he had to believe his rival had watched out for him, just so he could show up and disrupt his concentration. But as soon as he saw Draco and Miles rising towards them in their silver and green kit, he swore to himself that he would mind his temper and not rise to any bait, no matter how tempting.

"We simply must stop meeting like this," Draco called with false friendliness as he approached.

"You've had all day to practice, Malfoy," Ron called back. "There's no reason to insist on practicing now."

"Who's insisting?" Draco looked at Miles with mocking confusion. "Are you insisting?"

"Not me," Miles smirked.

"Just take the other goal again and leave us alone," Harry sighed.

"Certainly," Draco turned gracefully and soared away without another word.

Harry didn't trust him. Madam Pomfrey had healed up Draco’s shoulder in short order with no lasting damage but Harry was on the lookout for retaliation. It made it hard to concentrate and he couldn't stop glancing over his shoulder to check the blond Slytherin's position.

"Do you want to pack it in?" Ron pulled up alongside him and pushed his goggles up.

"No," Harry was frustrated. "If I can't concentrate when he's around, how can I concentrate during a game?"

"Seems like your question is backwards," Ron mused. "You can concentrate during a game. So why can't you concentrate when he's around?"

Harry grimaced. He would never admit to Ron that he was attracted to Draco Malfoy. That he found his smile strangely appealing. That his penchant for verbal sparring gave Harry a rush that he got nowhere else. He realized that Draco's current restraint was getting under his skin worse than his words. The anticipation was miserable but thrilling.

"Look out!" Ron's eyes bugged out and he yanked Harry by the arm as a golden practice Snitch shot by like a bullet. If Ron hadn’t reacted it would have plowed right into Harry's back.

"Coming through," Draco blitzed past at top speed, close enough to blow Harry's hair back.

Harry followed like it was a reflex. He bolted after his rival, chasing Draco as he chased the ball. Harry had to hand it to Miles, he could cast a repelling charm with some power behind it. Draco glanced over his shoulder and sneered as he caught sight of Harry’s pursuit. Harry leaned forward and put on another burst of speed, catching up slowly but surely. The practice Snitch was heading straight towards the lake and showed no signs of slowing. Harry pulled alongside Draco and cast him a triumphant grin. Draco snarled back, clearly unhappy about losing his lead.

“I’m faster than you!” Harry shouted over the wind as he gained half a broom's length.

“Give up, Potter, you’re just going to lose again!” Draco barked back, surging ahead.

Harry couldn’t help it, he laughed. The speed was exhilarating, and the chance to race, to truly race flat out with no finish line, was a heart-pounding thrill.

The practice Snitch was finally slowing, arcing down towards the water. Harry and Draco noticed at the same moment and dropped dramatically to skim along the water’s surface. Harry laughed again as the water parted in their wake. He stole a quick glance at his opponent and saw he was grinning, too. It was that open, sincere smile that Harry had only ever seen from the fringes or from a distance. And there it was, right in front of him. Draco was enjoying the race, too.

Up ahead the ball was losing altitude and Harry was certain they wouldn’t make it in time. Sure enough, it splashed into the water before either boy reached it.

“Buggery hell,” Draco cursed, hauling up short above the spreading ripples at the point of entry. “Potter, grab my broom.”

“What?” Harry rapidly decelerated and pulled up beside him.

“Grab it, I’m going after my ball.”

Without another word Draco swung his leg over his Nimbus and hopped off. Harry scrambled to grab the stick before it could tumble as the blond Slytherin plunged into the cold and murky lake.

“Malfoy!” Harry cried. He was mad, surely mad. Who knew where the giant squid was at this time of day, and what sort of mood it would be in? And then there were the aggressive Grindylows and the Merpeople, and all sorts of reasons why people didn’t just go about diving into Black Lake without preparation.

He hovered above the water, watching carefully as bubbles plipped and plopped on the surface. He wondered how long he should wait before going in after him. Draco Malfoy was his rival, but he didn’t want to see him drowned. He circled, fretting, heart in his throat. He had been down there too long. What if he didn’t come back up? How was a practice Snitch worth dying over?

Suddenly a pale shape emerged from the murky depths and rose to the surface. Draco’s head burst from the water with a desperate gasp as he coughed and spluttered and flailed his arms to stay afloat. His leather tunic was waterlogged and weighing him down and he struggled not to slip back beneath the surface.

“Hang on,” Harry tucked the other Nimbus beneath him alongside his own broom and stretched down to grasp Draco’s hand. He hauled up as hard as he could but just didn’t have the strength to heave his schoolmate out of the water and onto the stick. “I’m going to tow you to shore,” he said over the clamorous splashing.

“Don’t just dangle me like bait,” Draco squinted up at him, his eyes bloodshot and his hair sodden and dripping.

“I can’t pull you up,” Harry insisted. He tightened his grip and flew towards shore, dragging Draco along beneath him, his legs dragging through the water.

“That bloody squid is going to get me for sure,” Draco strained, trying to pull his feet up beneath him.

Harry felt like his arm would tear free from the weight of the Slytherin boy dangling from his hand. Finally he reached the shallows and let go, dropping Draco with a splash near the edge of the water. He set down well away from the shoreline and watched warily as Draco dragged himself to dry land. Draco flopped down on his back on a patch of grass and gasped for breath, completely soaked from head to toe. His lips were tinged blue and his teeth chattered involuntarily. His hands were drawn up to his chest and his fingers were curled painfully as though arthritic.

Harry dropped both brooms and shook his wand into his hand. “You’re going to freeze to death,” he muttered, kneeling at Draco’s side. “Don’t you know the water is always cold here?”

Draco eyed him scornfully but his teeth were chattering too violently to answer. “F-f-f-f-f-f-f,” he stammered. “F-f-fuck o-o-off.”

Harry shook his head tolerantly and cast a hot-air charm to dry Draco’s clothes and hair. Next he Accioed a bundle of dry sticks from the nearby treeline and cast Incendio to light a fire. “Warm up, then,” he waved Draco closer to the flames. He plopped onto the grass himself and stretched his feet towards the edge of the fire, enjoying the lovely radiance in the late afternoon shade.

Draco grudgingly scooted forward and held his hands out for warmth. Gradually his trembling slowed and the color came back to his cheeks and his hands released their claw-like curl. Harry plucked a blade of grass and chewed on it, his pose casual, but his mind working overtime. Should he still be here? There was no reason he shouldn’t hop onto his broom and head back towards the pitch. Draco’s broom was fine, he would be able to find his own way back. There really was no reason to sit by the fire like this.

“Potter,” Draco said seriously, interrupting his pondering.

“What?”

“I just wanted to say,” Draco gazed into the flickering flames and drew a breath. “I win again,” a grin broke over his face as he withdrew the golden practice Snitch from his pocket. His eyes bugged out and he laughed as though nothing had ever been funnier in his life.

“You utter prat,” Harry gritted his teeth and shook his head. “You absolute nutter.”

“Oh come on, tell me that wasn’t brilliant,” Draco protested, tossing the ball up into the air and catching it neatly. “You thought I was a goner, didn’t you?” He tossed the ball and caught it again.

“You’re lucky you weren’t a goner,” Harry was seriously annoyed.

“See, this is what it takes to be a champion Seeker,” Draco cocked his head knowingly and tossed the ball into the air again. “You’ve got to be willing to do anything to get the Snitch.” He tossed the ball again.

“Practice Snitch,” Harry corrected him and snatched the ball out of the air.

“Give that back,” Draco’s eyes narrowed.

“No, it’s mine now,” Harry held the practice ball out of reach. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction as Draco’s smug expression darkened.

“I said give it back, Potter,” Draco’s voice lowered seriously.

“No,” Harry slipped it into his breast pocket and raised an eyebrow challengingly.

Draco suddenly lunged at him, leaping across the grass with both hands outstretched. Harry quickly rolled away and scrambled to his feet. Operating purely on instinct he ran, and without glancing back he knew that Draco was pounding after him. He made a beeline for his broom and swept his hand down to grab it for a quick escape, but Draco was having none of it and launched himself at Harry’s back.

They collapsed in a heap, Harry struggling to escape as Draco tried to pin him and retrieve his ball. They wrestled across the grassy stretch between the water’s edge and the tree line, both fighting for control of the tiny golden sphere.

“Get off of me, arsehole,” Harry shouted as Draco desperately tried to restrain his arms and legs.

“Give me back my practice Snitch,” Draco retorted, using his position on top to gain leverage and press Harry flat to the ground. He finally managed to get Harry’s arms pinned over his head, and his wild eyes cast about for something that would help him get the ball out of Harry’s pocket. Finally, with much struggling and grappling he managed to work the golden ball free and get his hand around it. As soon as he had it in his grip he rolled away, scrambling to his feet as Harry leapt to a crouching position. They glowered at each other, chests heaving for air.

“Don't fuck with me, Potter,” Draco said warningly.

“Me? You’re the one who’s fucking with me.” Harry shot back. “You’ve been fucking with me for eight years.”

A secretive smile flickered across Draco’s mouth and was gone again in a flash. “Why don’t you just admit that I’m faster than you? Admit it and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Bollocks,” Harry spat. “You’re not faster and you’ll never leave me alone.”

Draco’s stance suddenly relaxed. He nodded thoughtfully and shrugged as though Harry had made a good point. “You’re right,” he shrugged in resignation and extended his hand. “It’s a good competition, though. You have to admit that.”

Harry lowered his hands and straightened up. That was easy, he thought. Was Draco really admitting defeat without a fight? He tentatively reached out to shake the other boy’s hand. He wondered if it was a trap in the very same instant that the fist caught his attention and slammed into his jaw. Draco had sucker punched him. He staggered backwards and fell into the grass, his hand clutching his face.

“That’s for knocking me off of my broom and nearly killing me yesterday,” Draco said haughtily. “Don’t worry, Madam Pomfrey has a lovely unguent for bruises.” He scooped up his broom and mounted, then kicked off and sailed away without a backwards glance.

Harry sat dazed in the grass as stars wheeled around his head. Sucker punched! How could he have been so daft? When would he learn never to trust a Malfoy?


	5. Chapter 5

"They're here!" Greg Goyle dashed into the Slytherin common room with barely contained excitement.

His shout needed no context, the recruiters had arrived. Draco and Blaise rose to their feet and with an unspoken agreement held their hands up for silence. They had taken unofficial leadership roles in their house this year, guiding the younger students with their expectations of how a proper Slytherin student should behave.

"Listen up," Blaise barked to halt the scattered muttering. "On your best behavior. No mocking, no jeering, certainly no fighting."

"Slytherin house has more class than the other three houses combined," Draco added. "Act like it." He eyed the room appraisingly, "And tuck in your shirts and fasten your robes, for Salazar's sake."

When the room passed muster Blaise and Draco led the way out of the dungeons to the lofted foyer at the school's entrance. They were the only house to turn out as a unit, the others trickled into the entryway in clusters and small groups. Draco saw that Ravenclaw bint, Luna whatever, walking with dopey old Longbottom. He couldn't tell if they were a couple, but it seemed like a match made in heaven.

He glanced up around the second floor, where students gathered along the corridor railings. Across the way he spotted Harry Potter with his two idiot friends. Harry spotted Draco at the very same instant. He felt a jolt as he realized they were holding each other's gaze. He quickly looked away and busied himself with his robe enclosures.

The massive front door swung inward and the sound of Headmistress McGonagall’s formal tones wafted in from the courtyard. Three figures entered and drew up short as they saw the silent throng of students waiting for them. The headmistress murmured something quietly to the two guests, who nodded in acknowledgement.

The guests were instantly fascinating. One was an older man with thinning hair and ruddy cheeks and nose. He wore a red track suit with white stripes running up the sides and white trainers on his feet. Certainly more casual than Draco would have expected for a professional Quidditch club representative. The second man was even stranger. He was heavy-set with an Oxford shirt, a bolo tie, and pointed snakeskin boots. On his head sat a white cowboy hat. An honest to goodness cowboy hat. Draco hadn't even known cowboy hats were real, and not just the fanciful fiction of children's stories.

"As you can see, news travels quickly at Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall's voice rang out clearly. "If everyone will please return to your houses, we will do a formal introduction at supper. You are dismissed."

"Now hang on, little lady," the man in the cowboy hat twanged. A nervous titter spread throughout the student body. Professor McGonagall looked stunned, as surely no one had ever addressed her as little lady before.

"It's good to see such an enthusiastic turnout," the cowboy continued, his accent so thick that Draco could hardly believe his ears. "My name's Robert Fletcher but y'all can call me Tex. This here is Nigel Hoffman. We're lookin' forward to meeting everyone while we're here." He gestured casually to Professor McGonagall, "Back to you, ma’am."

Professor McGonagall leveled an appraising gaze at the man, one of her sobering looks that could make a student's blood run cold. He didn't seem to notice.

"Thank you, Mister Fletcher," she said icily.

"Tex," he corrected her with a grin.

Professor McGonagall acted as though she hadn’t heard him. "As I said, if you will please return to your houses, we will do a full introduction at supper."

The students shuffled and jostled their way out of the foyer. Draco glanced up and caught Harry watching him again. He scowled and looked away. Why was that Gryffindor git staring at him? Probably plotting to get back at Draco for socking him in the chin. Even though that was really just getting even, he thought. They were even. Any retaliation would require another evening of the score.

Actually, he wasn't really sure why he had punched Harry. Sure, on the surface it was payback for socking Draco the day before. But the rationalization of payback hadn't occurred to him until after he had done it. If he really had to think about it, which he had, late into the night again, he had been angry. Right at the moment that his fist had balled up and flown as though of its own accord, he had been angry. Why was he angry? That was a tougher question. Just moments prior he’d been laughing with the rush and thrill of one-upping Harry Potter again, the Snitch triumphantly in his grasp, and the next minute he was angry.

If he had to break it down moment by moment, which he had while lying sleeplessly in his bed, he hadn’t gotten angry until they were grappling on the ground. Even when Harry had snatched the ball and pocketed it, he wasn't truly angry. He'd had to swallow a grin when Harry had risen to his bait and grabbed the tantalizingly lobbed practice Snitch. And he wasn't angry when Harry ran, or when he tackled him and they fell to the ground. Even the part where Harry was beneath him, refusing to acquiesce as Draco tried to pin his arms, that hadn’t made him angry. But a fraction of a breath later, he was furious.

He didn't like self-analysis. It was a habit he'd picked up during his Vanishing Cabinet days, when he would sit in the Room of Requirement and muse endlessly about the cack life he had unwittingly fallen into the instant the Dark Lord had shown up. A father in prison. A mad wizard camped out at home. That terrifying nutter Bellatrix exploding anything that got in her way. A bloody Dark Mark that didn't mean he was safe from Voldemort's temper, but rather made his failures more noticeable. During those days he would sit in quiet solitude with the cabinet, musing over his life and wondering what had gone wrong.

And now it was a habit. A disgusting habit of thinking carefully about his actions and motivations. A burden of self-awareness that he had been much happier without, thank you very much.

So why had he become so angry at Harry, when just a moment before he had been filled with the exhilaration and joy of bantering confrontation that only manifested in the presence of his rival?

It was because he'd gotten hard. He had tried to find another explanation but all signs pointed towards his cock. He had been filled with the heady rush of sparring with Potter, and then they were rolling across the ground, and suddenly Draco had the upper hand and he was pushing Harry's arms up over his head and it was so much like his fantasies. Except it couldn't happen. It simply couldn't. And the instant he felt his prick awaken he had feared Harry would feel it and he had jumped free. And looking into those green eyes when his cock wanted to have its way had been infuriating. So he threw a punch.

It wasn't a good reason. But when had he ever needed a good reason to do anything to Harry Potter?

"What on earth was that?" Blaise turned and addressed the room via Draco as the Slytherin students filtered back into the dungeon.

"A cowboy?" Draco smirked, shoving his personal musing aside.

"There is no way that man is real," Blaise shook his head.

"You can call me Tex," Pansy Parkinson drawled in a terrible twangy accent.

"Ya'll can call me Tex," Blaise corrected her grammar but did not put on the accent.

"Do you really think he's from Texas?" Greg Goyle wondered, his eyes wide.

"He's probably from Romford and putting on an act," Blaise snorted.

"Why would a Yank run a Quidditch team?" Draco asked. "What could he possibly know about it?"

"That man is not from Texas," Blaise refused to believe.

"You don't think he's a muggle, do you?" Draco looked up in horror.

"Cowboy hat and a wand?" Blaise snorted. "That would be a sight."

Everyone drifted off to their rooms, thinking their own thoughts about what they had just seen. Draco laid back on his bed and stared at the canopy, wondering if Harry had bought the man's act. He probably wouldn't mind playing for a muggle Yank. Draco wasn't sure he liked the idea. He wasn't so much interested in the foofaraw about blood purity anymore. That tired line wore out its welcome long before the Dark Lord was vanquished. But the idea of a Yankee muggle was a bit much to take.

When it was time for supper the students all crowded into the Great Hall at once, not a soul late for the first time in Hogwarts history. The two guests were seated to Headmistress' left, and the cowboy had removed his hat and hung it from the post of his chair. He had a head full of mousy brown hair, matted all the way around from the leather hatband.

Everyone ate quickly, knowing they wouldn't get any more information until the clatter of forks and knives had settled. Draco had little appetite. He realized he was surprisingly nervous about the arrival of the recruiters. It was about to get real.

Finally Professor McGonagall stood and held her hands up for attention. Never had the Great Hall been as quiet as it was at that moment.

"Your attention please," she said unnecessarily. She reintroduced the visitors and then asked them to speak. The room filled with the sound of bottoms shifting in seats as everyone leaned forward.

"Howdy," Tex stood and popped his hat back onto his head. The student body mumbled a mild salutation. "I said howdy!" the man shouted.

"Howdy!" hundreds of students bellowed in return, tittering and giggling at the silly word. Draco found himself grinning in spite of himself.

"There ya go," Tex chuckled. "I'm sure y'all have heard that we're here to search for players for a new Quidditch team that will be based in London." He paused until the closet students responded affirmatively. "Well there ain't much more to say than that. I can't tell ya what the name of the team is, I can't tell ya exactly where they'll be based, we're still workin’ out the details and they ain't public yet." He smiled and held his hands out apologetically. "I can tell ya this. I'm the owner, I'm the cash. I don't know spit about how to coach a team, but I can finance the heck out if it. This fella over here, this is your Quidditch expert. You want to know how the team is going to shake out? Nigel's your man. Got questions about tryouts? Nigel's your man. Think you're the fastest Seeker around? Prove it to Nigel. Sound good?"

Draco wasn't sure but he could swear the cowboy’s eyes landed on Harry when he said the word Seeker. He bridled at the idea. How could it be a fair competition if they had already identified Harry as their player?

The other man stood now, thankfully local and far less flashy in his delivery. He cut to the chase, "Tryouts are for graduating students only. That's seventh and eighth years, no exceptions. Headmistress McGonagall has informed me that classes are in session until the afternoon so please be down at the pitch tomorrow dressed and ready to play by three o'clock sharp. Latecomers will be disqualified." He scanned the room sternly, clearly not a man to disagree with.

After their announcement supper came to a lackluster close. Many of the fifth and sixth year students had harbored unrealistic hopes of being allowed to try out, and now that the terms had been confirmed they were bitterly disappointed.

Draco stood and glanced over at the Gryffindor table. Harry was looking at him again, much to his consternation. This time, instead of looking away, he held his gaze challengingly. When the other boy didn't look away Draco strode over to him with a commanding posture.

"What are you staring at, Potter?" he snapped.

"Nothing," Harry replied calmly, not shifting his gaze an inch. "Are you planning on practicing tonight?"

"Asking me out, are you?" Draco winced internally. He wished he hadn't referenced relations. It was too close to the truth.

"No," Harry finally seemed flustered. He ducked his head and glanced around to see if anyone had overheard. The Great Hall was emptying rapidly and soon they would be the only two remaining. "Ron can't practice tonight. And since we've been competing anyway I thought maybe..."

Draco waited for him to finish his sentence. It dangled heavily between them. There was a part of him that wanted to say no, just for the pleasure of shutting him down and denying him what he wanted. Then again he probably expected that. And there was that recently discovered pleasure of surprising his rival with the unexpected. If he had to choose between the two sensations, he supposed the latter was more appealing these days, as much as it would have galled his younger self to say so.

"Sure," Draco shrugged. "One last chance to beat you before it becomes official."

Harry's eyes darkened but he smiled with one corner of his mouth. "If they were recruiting for most arrogant player, you'd have it locked up for sure."

"And if they were recruiting for--"

"Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy," Professor McGonagall's voice rang out as Professor Slughorn led the guests out through the staff corridor. "If you are finished you are dismissed."

"Yes ma'am," Harry turned quickly to leave.

Draco swallowed the insult he frankly hadn't put enough thought into and followed him out. They paused in the foyer for a moment before muttering something about meeting in a half hour and departing separately.

Draco's mood was significantly lifted, which he attributed to the arrival of the recruiters. There was a bounce to his step as he rounded the corner to his room and tossed his robe off of his shoulders with abandon. He was checking his hair in the mirror when Miles showed up.

"Think you should go practice?" he asked. "I've got time this evening."

"Not much point now," Draco said smoothly, grabbing his toothbrush and breezing past him on the way to the washroom. Miles followed on his heels.

"What are you doing?" Miles asked as Draco scrubbed. "Got a date?"

"Of course not," Draco spat out a mouthful of foam and glowered at his housemate. "Don't be a prat."

"How am I a prat?" Miles squeaked. "I just asked."

"You just are," Draco rinsed his mouth and shoved him out of the way. How obnoxious, implying he was primping or something. What did Miles Bletchley know? Draco was pretty sure he only owned three pairs of trousers that he bothered cleaning just once a month. He wasn't getting ready for anything. Just some flying.

His mood lifted again at that thought. He couldn't wait to be up in the air. He thought about racing flat out, soaring just above the water of Black Lake, with Harry grinning at him as their wake scattered tiny droplets about.

He headed straight for the locker room and changed quickly into his gear, then grabbed his broom from the shed. Harry was already aloft and circling lazily in his red and gold tunic by the time Draco ascended from the pitch. Harry’s goggles were up on his forehead, pushing his black hair back and revealing his scar. Draco tried not to look at it. He refused to act like another starry-eyed Potter fan who had fallen for the lure of that scar.

He withdrew his goggles from his pocket as he approached, then settled them on his own forehead. "Got your Snitch?" he asked.

"Practice Snitch," Harry corrected him. "I suppose it doesn't matter if you steal it from me this time. After tomorrow there won't be any point in practicing anymore."

"When have I stolen your ball?" Draco demanded.

"Well," Harry cocked his head. "I guess you have to keep it for it to be stolen."

"Just say it," Draco drifted closer. "I beat you to it."

Harry blinked at him in frustration and shook his head. "You caught the practice Snitch once."

"I beat you to the practice Snitch," it was Draco's turn to offer a correction. "Twice."

"You didn't catch it last time, you git," Harry reminded him.

"An underwater catch is still a catch," Draco insisted. He couldn't decide if he was annoyed or enjoying the debate. Or maybe his brain was all confused and now associated annoyance with pleasure. "Are we going to talk all night or practice?"

Harry squinted at the horizon where the sun was heading into its final descent. "We won't have long before dark," he said.

"All the more reason to shut up and throw," Draco said with a snotty smirk.

"Get your wand out," Harry held the golden ball up. "That way we both have to stow it before starting. Level playing field."

"Fine," Draco shook his wand into his hand and held it up. They faced each other with wands extended and Draco felt a sour pang in his chest. The last time they'd faced each other with wands he'd nearly died on a stinking sodding washroom floor. But that was past and this was Quidditch, he reminded himself.

"Ready?" Harry grinned toothily, his handsome face golden in the setting sunlight.

"Ready," Draco lowered his goggles.

Harry tossed the ball up and cast the repelling spell. It fired like a cannon. He and Draco both scrambled to pocket their wands and took off.

They paced each other closely, their shoulders practically colliding as they flew as fast as they could after the Snitch. Draco stole a glance at his opponent and saw his grim, determined expression. He wasn't going to let himself lose this time. Draco considered throwing out an elbow and knocking him off course but for once he sort of wanted to see who really was faster, without tricks, without fouls.

"Fuck," Harry cursed. Up ahead the practice ball was heading straight for the Forbidden Forest. It was already starting to lose momentum and there was no way it would clear the other side.

They both kicked hard and tried to catch up before it could drop into the trees. They flew close to the upper reaches of the branches, each stretching a hand out to grab the ball. Too late, they overshot the mark as it plunged into the dark forest below.

"Bollocks!" Harry pulled up hard and gritted his teeth.

"Lets go," Draco paused just long enough to angle his broom downward and without a second thought he descended.

"Are you mad?" Harry called after him. "It's going to be dark soon."

Draco carefully wove his way through the branches as he descended towards the forest floor. He knew it was unwise to enter the Forbidden Forest, especially when nightfall was approaching, but he stubbornly didn't want to let the Snitch go.

"Come on, Potter," he shouted as he landed. He heard a vehement curse above his head and a moment later Harry followed him down.

"We shouldn't be here," Harry said irritably.

"Sca--"

"And don't say, 'scared, Potter,'" Harry snapped. "I'm not scared. But I'm not stupid either."

"Yet here you are," Draco leaned casually on his broomstick and crossed his ankles. "All alone in the Forbidden Forest with your sworn enemy, who might very well be planning your demise."

"Right," Harry rolled his eyes. "You're not my sworn enemy."

"I am too," Draco was insulted. They had spent seven years trading barbs and fighting. One little war and suddenly that counted for nothing?

"Voldemort was my sworn enemy," Harry sneered.

"Hey, he was my enemy, too, you know," Draco jabbed his finger at Harry's chest. "He was a lot of people's enemies. You don't get to claim him all for yourself."

"You were on his side, Malfoy," Harry groaned.

"No I wasn't. Not really," Draco said. "I didn't want any of that rubbish."

"So you say now," Harry rolled his eyes. "Help me look," he set off in the direction that the snitch had been traveling when it entered the trees. "If it hit a branch on the way down it could have bounced off at an angle."

"I'm not saying that in hindsight, Potter" Draco couldn't let it drop. He didn't care whether Harry understood, but he wasn't about to be dismissed with an eyeroll. "I really didn't want to be part of all of that. If my father hadn’t been sent away I wouldn't have had to do what I did. The Dark Lord would have killed me if i hadn’t."

"I know," Harry said simply, his eyes scanning the undergrowth.

"If you know then why are you suggesting I’m a liar?" Draco wasn't even looking for the golden ball.

"Because," Harry straightened up and frowned thoughtfully. "Because that's what we do."

Draco blinked. Harry's words resonated in his ears. He was right, of course. That's what Draco and Harry did. Except he'd never thought of them as "we" before. It made him smile. And for a brief moment, Harry smiled back.

"We bicker like old people," Harry went back to scanning the bushes. “When we’re not outright fighting.”

"It's better than getting along, if you ask me," Draco said, finally joining the hunt.

“Is it?” Harry asked. “You’d really rather bicker with people than get along?”

“Well,” Draco frowned as he nudged through the shrubbery with his broom handle, “maybe not people. But you, certainly.”

“So you enjoy bickering with me,” Harry snorted. “I always wondered if this was your perverse version of friendship.”

“It’s not friendship,” Draco said quickly. “We are not friends.”

“You don’t have to remind me,” Harry said. “Where is that sodding ball?”

Draco shook his wand into his hand and cast a Lumos charm to light the way. The sun was nearly at the horizon now, which meant the woods were getting very dark. “Look for a glint of gold,” he said.

“Obviously, Malfoy,” Harry cast his own Lumos and poked it between branches as they walked.

“If I find it first, I’m calling it another win,” Draco reminded him.

“I’m sure you will,” Harry murmured with just a hint of amusement.

Suddenly a crackling off to their right drew them up short. They froze, eyes wide, wands held aloft, peering into the darkness. Draco’s blood ran cold. It was bloody stupid to be out here, and he knew it. He sidled over towards Harry and tried to calm his nerves. It was probably nothing. Except in the Forbidden Forest it was most certainly something.

“We should go,” Draco said in a carefully controlled tone. His shoulder was pressed up against Harry’s, and he cast about looking for the source of the sound. A louder crash like a falling tree branch nearly made him jump out of his skin.

Harry turned his head with a slow, devilish grin. “Scared, Malfoy?” he asked mockingly. He raised an eyebrow and chuckled.

“For Merlin’s sake, Potter, now is not the time,” Draco gripped his broom. He didn’t want to leave Harry behind, but he certainly didn’t want to stay. “Are you coming with me or not?”

“One more minute,” Harry turned and swept his wand close to the ground. “It has to be here.”

“Okay, I get it,” Draco said. “You’re getting me back for diving into the lake. That’s great, very funny. It’s time to go.” His heart was pounding in his ears. He couldn’t see anything in the twilight shadows, but there was definitely something moving nearby.

“Help me look,” Harry kept walking, sweeping his wand back and forth over the forest floor.

Just in front of them they heard the crackle of twigs again. Draco’s hair stood on end as the ground cover rippled and writhed.

“Potter,” he said warningly. “Step back over here. Slowly, carefully.”

“What?” Harry looked back over his shoulder.

“Potter, the vines,” Draco pointed. The ground cover was moving vigorously now. The crackling of tiny tap roots snapping filled the air as hundreds of small vines ripped free and slithered towards Harry. He belatedly jumped back but his left foot was snagged by dozens of tendrils.

“Malfoy!” Harry shouted as more vines seized his arms and yanked him forward towards the dense thicket. “Get it off of me!”

“Reducto!” Draco cast a curse at the wildly writhing mat of vines. Harry thrashed his arms and lost his balance as the plants yanked him roughly off of his feet. “Confrigo! Impedimenta!” Draco fired off a barrage of curses, trying to stop the mass of tentacles from swallowing Harry whole. “Incendio!” a burst of flame sprayed from the end of his wand and licked across the vines. The plant reared back, momentarily dropping Harry as the fire spread across the tendrils.

“Potter, come on!” Draco lunged for Harry and dragged him by the arm. He could barely think straight, operating purely on adrenaline fueled instinct. Casting a fire spell took him back to the Room of Requirement and filled him with nearly paralyzing terror.

“My broom!” Harry dug his heels in and wheeled around. The thrashing tendrils whipped violently as the fire consumed the plant. Harry’s broom was tossed into the air and several supple tentacles latched on, pulling in different directions until it snapped with a ferocious crack.

“Leave it!” Draco seized Harry’s arm again and ran, pulling him along behind him. They tore through the underbrush, trying to put distance between themselves and the burning vines.

“Malfoy!” Harry cried. “Stop!”

Draco glanced back and caught the toe of his shoe on a tree root. He tripped calamitously, his arms flailing as he hit the ground flat on his stomach. Harry tumbled after him, falling in a graceless heap on top of him.

“Malfoy, are you okay?” Harry scrambled to roll him over.

Draco was dazed. He had knocked the wind out of himself and couldn't breathe. His hands trembled and he moved his mouth but found himself unable to speak. Everything went gray and fuzzy, and for just a moment the sounds of the forest around him receded into a wall of white noise. Bearing down with tremendous effort, he dragged a breath into his lungs and then forced it back out. It was a manual effort as his body recovered control of itself. He hauled in a breath and pushed it out, concentrating on nothing but breathing, on drawing air in and out against the stunned paralysis. Slowly he came back to his senses.

“You’re okay,” a voice was saying. “You’re going to be okay.”

He forced his eyes open and remembered where he was. He was lying on his back on the floor of the Forbidden Forest, his wand lying to one side, his broom lying to the other. Harry Potter was above him, holding his shoulders with a look of deep concern in his eyes. He was telling Draco that he would be okay.

“I’m okay,” Draco croaked, as sound and vision and sensibility returned. 

“Don’t move,” Harry said, still gripping his shoulders. “You knocked the wind out of yourself. Just rest for a moment.”

Draco nodded obediently. Beyond Harry he could see the glow of flame as the vine plant continued to burn. He remembered suddenly that Harry had nearly been swallowed alive.

“Are you okay?” he asked, raising his hands to grasp Harry’s arms in return. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Harry smiled reassuringly. “It just dragged me for a bit. Didn’t even break the skin.”

“We should get out of here,” Draco said belatedly.

Harry laughed softly, his mouth curving up in a sheepish smile. He was still holding onto Draco. And in fact Draco was still holding onto Harry.

“This was a bad idea,” Draco said, for some reason compelled to keep filling the silence. He firmed up his grip on the other boy, drawing him just an inch closer. Harry nodded in agreement and moved in another inch.

They looked into each other’s eyes, half smiling, half wondering. Gradually, bit by bit, they drew nearer until their noses nearly brushed. Draco closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of the other boy. Spicy, citrusy, infinitely appealing. He looked up and Harry was gazing steadily at him, appraisingly perhaps. Draco squeezed his arms just barely, just the smallest hint of willingness. Then it happened.

Harry kissed Draco. Or maybe Draco kissed Harry. Their lips met in the middle, soft and yielding and yearning. Draco’s heart pounded in his ears as he pressed his mouth to Harry’s mouth. It was warm, it was wet, and the soft sounds of their lips meeting and parting again and again were like a symphony to his ears. Every nerve ending in his body tingled, attuned to the amazing sensation of kissing this boy. It was bloody brilliant. He parted his lips just slightly and Harry took the invitation to flick his tongue across the opening. Draco pulled him closer and pressed deeper, his tongue playing over Harry’s lower lip. Harry licked gently in response, sucking his tongue delicately and exploring with his own. Draco didn’t care about vines or fire or lost snitches. He kissed Harry passionately.

He kissed Harry.

He kissed Harry Potter.

Oh fuck.

A panicked shock jolted through his body and he inhaled sharply. He pushed Harry away and scrambled backwards as fast as he could, his brain filled with spinning, whirling gibberish. Oh fuck, what had he done?

“What are you doing?” he accused reflexively.

Harry’s eyes were round and stunned. “Me? You’re the one who started it,” he protested.

“No I didn’t,” Draco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I was in shock. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Then you shouldn't have done it,” Harry said loudly, his expression hurt and confused.

“I’m,” Draco’s eyes cast about wildly for a way to undo what had just happened. “I’m not like that.”

“I’m not either,” Harry shot back.

They stared at each other across the forest floor, stunned and scared and defensive. Draco didn’t know what to think, what to say, what to do. He knew it was his fault. He had started it. He had kissed Harry Potter. And there was no way he could let him dangle that over his head. He would probably tell his friends. What if the whole school found out? What if it cost him the tryout? Why oh why had he let his guard down?

He wondered if he should act incoherent, put on a performance like he was out of his mind. That would be a pretty good excuse. But Harry was already standing and looking around and behaving as though nothing had happened. Maybe he wanted to pretend, too. Maybe he was as upset as Draco was. Merlin only knew what that had to be like, being kissed by your enemy. Your male enemy. Oh fuck, why now?

“My broom is destroyed,” Harry said flatly. “And the anti-Apparation protection means I can’t pop back to the school. You’ll have to fly me out.”

“That’s fine,” Draco climbed to his feet and straddled his broom. “We’ll be quick about it.”

Harry stepped up behind him and wrapped his arm around his waist. Draco tried not to tense up, tried not to flinch at the contact. It was too intimate, too soon. He pushed off and they rose steadily through the trees until finally they emerged into the clear night sky. The sun was fully down now and the stars were starting to emerge. Draco oriented himself and then set off towards the Quidditch pitch. Harry slipped his other arm around Draco and held tight, his body pressed up against Draco’s back. He willed his cock to stay dormant, to ignore the other boy’s warmth. or the thrill of his arms squeezing Draco’s waist. He felt something rest on his shoulder and was certain Harry had laid his head on him. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it.

They landed gracefully outside of the locker room. Harry stepped off of the broom and looked at Draco grimly.

“That’s probably it for me for tryouts,” he said, his voice carefully expressionless. “I don’t have a broom, so I can’t compete.”

“Rubbish,” Draco shook his head. “You’ll use my broom.”

Harry looked at him soberly, as though trying to figure out if there was a catch. “Are you sure?”

“I’m the reason you were there,” Draco insisted. “It’s only fair.”

“You’re not just messing with me,” Harry said. “I’m not going to show up tomorrow at three just for you to change your mind.”

“I’m not messing with you,” a surge of annoyance helped Draco feel a bit more stable. “We have the same model. It will be just like riding your own.”

Harry gazed off towards the pitch for a moment as though considering the offer. Finally he nodded. “Thanks,” he said simply, then extended his hand to shake.

Draco hesitated before accepting Harry’s grip. Harry held his hand for an extra moment, searching his face. Draco felt his cheeks flush and let go.

“See you tomorrow,” he muttered, then turned to go stow his broom in the shed. Harry didn’t move, he stood quietly and watched Draco walk away.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry was not terribly inclined to share the sordid details of practice with Ron and Hermione. In fact, he wished he could Obliviate himself and forget it had ever happened. He slouched through the common room on the way to his bedroom and just shook his head when Ron called out to him.

Draco had kissed him. He was certain of it. There was, of course, a kernel of doubt. He had been watching the other boy for so long that it was possible he had started it without realizing it. But he didn't think so.

He stood in the shower with water coursing over his shoulders and back and played it over and over in his mind. Draco had dragged him through the woods, he had tripped, and they had both fallen. Harry had been terrified that Draco was seriously hurt, and when he rolled him over and saw he was unscathed he had gone dizzy with relief. It was clear that Draco was in distress, he couldn't catch his breath or speak. Harry had held him gently and talked to him until he was breathing normally again. And that was when it got weird.

Draco had lifted his hands and grasped Harry's shoulders, and the concern in his eyes was palpable. He had been as worried about Harry's well-being as Harry was about Draco's. It transcended rivalry, it was almost possessive. It was an open, unshielded moment, not unlike the unguarded moments of laughter Harry had only recently shared with him. But it was also something wholly new.

And then he had drawn Harry in. He was certain that was how it had happened. He had drawn Harry in, and then Harry had leaned in, and then, well, someone had closed the gap. He was certain it was Draco who had pressed his lips against Harry's. But it could have just as easily been Harry who pressed his lips against Draco's.

He stroked himself slowly as he thought about the sensation of Draco's mouth on his. The soft warm tongue exploring and savoring Harry like no one had ever savored him before. Even if Harry had started it, no one had made Draco kiss him back, no one had made him slip his tongue between Harry's lips. He had done that on his own.

He thought about those soft lips, that warm tongue, and he came easily. He held his breath and let the delicious sensation sizzle through him as the water washed away all evidence. He had wanked plenty of times to the vision of Draco Malfoy, but this was the first time he'd had something real to draw on.

He laid awake in his bed late into the night, wondering what would happen next. Draco was clearly not interested in exploring this side of himself. For all Harry knew, that was the first time he'd ever felt drawn to a boy. Something was telling him it was wrong, that was why he had leapt away and accused Harry of preying on him.

He hoped he wouldn't feel so repulsed by what had happened that he would change his mind about letting Harry use his Nimbus. If all else failed he could borrow Ron's broom, but Ron had a Firebolt that hadn't been serviced in quite a while. He wasn't sure he could perform as well on it. He finally fell asleep and dreamed fitfully of broken brooms and deep gray eyes.

Classes the next day were agonizing. The students needed to pay attention since exams were next week, but who could concentrate? Harry and Draco made no eye contact, neither antagonizing nor friendly in passing. Harry did the best he could to take notes and focus on his lessons but he knew he wasn't absorbing anything. And given the strict proclivities of the Hogwarts staff, they would take advantage of the week's distractions and feature these last new concepts prominently in their exams.

Finally the afternoon classes broke and Harry was able to put his mind right where it wanted to be: the Quidditch tryouts. He was halfway down the tower stairs when Ron called for him from the Fat Lady painting.

"We're coming!" he shouted. Seamus and Ginny and Dean clattered after him.

"You're all trying out?" Harry was surprised.

"Why not? We may never get another chance!" Seamus laughed.

"Besides, Ginny has a real chance," Ron added.

"So you're going to go out there and make fools of yourself just to say you did it?" Harry asked.

"That's the long and the short of it, yeah," Ron grinned cheekily.

They clomped down to the front doors and ran across the grounds to the pitch. They could see other students ahead of them, and more filtering out behind them. Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw Draco was on his way down with Blaise and Miles at his side, along with three seventh-year Slytherins. It looked like try-outs would be filled with unrealistic aspirations.

"Malfoy," Dean grumbled, following Harry's gaze. "Don't let him get under your skin."

"Don't let him get inside your head," Seamus added.

"Harry doesn't let anyone get inside his head," Ginny said with a smirk. As his ex-girlfriend she was permitted a few jabs every now and then. Harry playfully shoved at her arm, which she dodged neatly.

They dressed in the locker room and then went to the shed to retrieve their brooms. Harry hadn't mentioned that his broom was wrecked. When he stood uselessly near the doorway his friends stared at him in confusion.

"I sort of lost my broom last night," he said uncomfortably.

"Did Malfoy steal it?" Ron was instantly furious.

"No," Harry said quickly. "We lost the practice Snitch in the Forbidden Forest and tried to go after it. It's a long story."

"You went into the Forbidden Forest with Draco Malfoy?" Ginny gasped. "You're lucky to be alive!"

"Shocking, isn't it?" the afternoon sun was blotted out as the blond Slytherin boy appeared in the doorway with his housemates at his back. "Turns out I would much rather make the team and win Potter's hundred Galleons than have him killed."

"So you're saying Potter's life is worth less to you than a hundred Galleons?" Blaise quipped behind his shoulder. The other Slytherins laughed.

"Something like that," Draco said softly, his eyes flicking across Harry's for an instant.

"You can use my broom," Ron tossed his arm around Harry's shoulder reassuringly.

"Absolutely not," Draco strode past them and lifted his pristine Nimbus from the rack. "I won't have people saying I beat Potter just because he had a second rate broom. He'll use mine so the competition is fair."

He made it sound like he was doing himself a favor, of which Harry was an unintended beneficiary. Harry figured it didn't matter how he said it, as long as he didn't change his mind.

The five Gryffindors and six Slytherins headed out to the pitch, where they joined up with a dozen Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Most of the students who had shown up were clearly not cut out for the pros, but the recruiters had left it open. Harry hoped they wouldn't be annoyed.

The cowboy and the coach arrived a few minutes late, apparently not beholden to their own start time. They spoke quietly as they walked onto the pitch, and unhurriedly finished their conversation before turning and inspecting the students.

"Quite a turnout," the Cowboy smiled and adjusted his belt, then hooked his thumbs behind his enormous silver and brass buckle. "Line 'em up, let's go."

The students shuffled around until they were standing in a row. The cowboy and the coach walked slowly from one end to the other, inspecting the mix of boys and girls with shrewd eyes.

They both paused in front of Harry, who was the only one without a broom.

"Son," the Texan raised an eyebrow. "I know I ain't an expert like my friend here, but don't you need a broom to play Quidditch?"

"I lost my broom, sir," Harry said awkwardly.

"You lost your broom?" Nigel frowned.

"What's your name, Specs?"

Harry's cheeks burned. Was he now commenting on his glasses? "Harry Potter, sir."

"Harry Potter, huh?" the Texan eyed his partner knowingly. "You've got yourself quite a reputation around here. I'll let it ride. I wanna see what you can do."

"Thank you, sir," Harry ducked his head. He could feel everyone's eyes on him, especially Draco's.

"I'm Tex, this here is Nigel," the cowboy reintroduced himself to the group. "We're gonna put you through the paces today, thin the herd a bit." He looked up and down the line. "Don't take it personally, but most of y'all won't be comin' back for round two tomorrow."

Nigel reached inside his windbreaker and pulled out a whistle. "I want you up on your brooms. We'll start with timed sprints."

"Starting here," Tex pointed to the end of the line and counted off the three seventh year Slytherins, Blaise and Draco. "You, you, you, you, and you too, Blondie."

Draco paused and gave the man a withering look before mounting and ascending with his housemates. Harry choked on a laugh as Ron bugged his eyes out at him. Did he just call Draco Malfoy "Blondie?" Harry looked up and caught Draco's attention with a grin. Draco's eyes narrowed humorlessly.

The speed trials were easy, just darting from one set of goal hoops to the other, racing flat out as Nigel wrote comments in a little notepad. Draco won easily every time. Harry could tell right away that two of the seventh-years definitely wouldn't be invited back for round two.

The Hufflepuffs were up next. Two were good, three were clearly too slow on the turns. Ravenclaw put up four fast candidates and two weak ones. Nigel and Tex spoke quietly as they raced, occasionally pointing and nodding at a specific player.

Finally it was Gryffindor's turn. Dean, Ginny, Seamus and Ron ascended straight away. Harry paused and nervously turned to check Draco's eyes for betrayal. But the boy was waiting for him, his broom already extended. His face was a tightly controlled mask, but he was focued with bright intensity on Harry.

Harry mounted and kicked off, and thankfully this Nimbus felt exactly like his own. He circled once and shot towards the goal hoops with a burst of determined adrenaline. The speed trials were exactly what he needed to settle his nerves. He blasted back and forth across the pitch, easily outpacing his housemates, although Ginny's performance was quite impressive, too. When they were finally called in for a landing Harry's hair was windblown and his cheeks were flushed with the exhilaration of speed.

He hopped off of the broom and high-fived his friends. They were laughing and congratulating each other, and then all at once their smiles evaporated. Harry turned and found Draco standing directly behind him with an eyebrow imperiously raised.

"I'll take that, thank you kindly," Draco snatched his broom from Harry's hand in one clean grab. A tiny smile curled the corner of his mouth. "Nice ride," he said shortly.

Harry's heart pounded in relief. He hadn't expected anything from his rival. Maybe derision and mockery. Certainly not a compliment. He tried to squash the feeling down, worried it would get in his head worse than an insult.

"Nice job, Specs," Tex nodded approvingly as Nigel finished taking notes. "Break it up, Blondie. Back in line. You too, Red."

Harry had to swallow another laugh as a look of horror flickered across Draco's face. He could guess that he was afraid these nicknames would stick.

Next the recruiters had them pair off, Slytherin against Ravenclaw, Gryffindor against Hufflepuff, for some Quaffle passing. As each pairing tried to score against each other, Nigel called out to rotate the players through the Keeper position.

"He's good," Dean said with a note of bewilderment in his voice as they squinted up at Draco's position in front of the goal hoops. He was an unlikely Keeper, slimmer and more angular than most players in that position. But his penchant for speedy interception favored him and he successfully stopped every shot at his team's hoops.

He casually tossed Harry his broom as he landed and strode past as though he couldn't be bothered making sure Harry caught it. The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff candidates took to the skies. Harry didn't enjoy playing Chaser or Keeper, and it didn't help that he had Ginny showing him up at every opportunity. She could catch a Quaffle with one hand no matter where it came from.

Ron lived up to his claim of being a shite Keeper. He was having fun but the Hufflepuffs scored on him several times. Harry was no better, but he knew he wasn't a Keeper candidate. When they landed Draco accepted his broom back with an openly mocking grin.

"You stink," he said as though nothing had ever made him happier.

"I know," Harry shook his head in disgust.

"All right, listen up," Tex called for order. "Nigel is gonna read off some names. If your name is called, report back here tomorrow at three. If it ain't, well, we hope you had fun today. Thank you all for coming out."

The list was short. They selected Harry, Ginny, Draco, one of the seventh-year Slytherins, two Ravenclaws boys and a girl from Hufflepuff. The others took the dismissal with a mixture of good natured understanding and disappointed grumbling. The recruiters held the seven selectees back while the others returned to the locker rooms.

"Gather 'round," Tex waved them in close. "Now listen, just because you made it to round two, that don't mean you're on the team. We'll meet tomorrow, you'll show us what you've got, and if we like any of ya'll, you'll be hearing from us."

And with that, they were dismissed. Harry headed back to the locker room as the others went to stow their brooms in the shed. He flopped down onto the bench and buried his face in his hands. It was all so stressful. Between the competition with Draco and the contract he'd already been offered and finals and graduation it was just too much.

A hand lightly touched his back, then slid up and squeezed his shoulder. Harry sat up quickly, embarrassed that he'd been caught in a moment of despair. He looked up and Draco was standing right behind him, looking down with a neutral expression.

"You did well today," he said simply, then moved on to his locker as the other players filed in.

Harry dressed slowly, reluctant to return to the Gryffindor common room, where he would undoubtedly be peppered with questions. The Ravenclaws tidied up and departed first. The Slytherin seventh-year boy waited hesitantly for Draco before being dismissed with a curt wave of his hand. Harry heard Ginny and the Hufflepuff girl chatting as they passed by from the girls' locker room.

Neither Harry nor Draco spoke. Harry didn't know what he expected. Last night had shown him that Draco surely felt something, desire at a minimum, but he wasn't ready to face it. So what good could come from waiting around?

"How did my Nimbus perform for you?" Draco finally broke the silence as he slipped his kit into the laundry bin.

"Felt just like mine," Harry sat up. "Thank you for letting me use it."

"You'll probably need it tomorrow, too," Draco said. "Hopefully they won't need us all up in the air at once."

"Right," Harry smiled awkwardly. He hesitated, then decided to ask a question that had been on his mind all afternoon, "What if they don't offer any of us a contract?"

"Then neither of us is out a hundred Galleons, and it will all be a wash," Draco said simply as he closed his locker.

"That's it?" Harry asked. "You're not going to be disappointed? You're only here for the wager?"

Draco opened his mouth with a glib response on his lips. Harry could recognize that expression in a heartbeat. But then he seemed to change his mind.

"Sure I would be disappointed," he shrugged. "But not crushed."

Harry stood and followed him to the door. They walked up the grassy lawn towards the castle. It felt strange to walk with his rival, but he didn't think it made much sense to make an issue of it now.

"What do you care anyway?" Draco asked suddenly. "You've got a contract ready to be signed with the Caerphilly Catapults if you want it."

"I guess so," Harry said.

They were walking very closely, their shoulders nearly touching. Harry stepped on an uneven patch of grass and stumbled, and his hand brushed up against Draco's.

"And you can always go do the Auror thing," Draco added, filling the silence. His hand brushed Harry's.

"True," all of Harry's focus was on his hand. "What about you? What will you do if you don't make the team?" He deliberately bumped his hand against Draco's again.

"I don't really need to do anything," Draco said. "I could go back to the manor and do nothing if I wanted to."

"Is that what you want to do?" Harry hooked his pinkie around Draco's, just for a brief moment before letting it slip free. His heart was pounding.

"I don't know," Draco mused. "I hadn't given it much thought until this whole recruiter business came up."

Suddenly Draco reached out and grasped Harry's hand in his. Not a sneaky brush or a glancing touch. He held Harry's hand, fingers laced and everything. Fireworks went off in Harry's brain, firing in every direction. Butterfly flutters filled in his stomach and radiated to his groin. And for half a second he felt a bit dizzy.

They didn't speak or look at each other. They walked up the long hill in the evening sun, hand in hand and saying nothing. Harry gulped and tentatively stroked his thumb across Draco's knuckles. He hoped this was real. He hoped this wasn't a ploy, something that would turn into retaliation, like when Draco had sucker punched him.

When they reached the courtyard Draco released his hand just as suddenly and walked on ahead. He didn't say goodnight or see you tomorrow or look back over his shoulder, he just let go and walked away. Harry wasn't sure what to think.

So he decided not to think. Draco Malfoy had now kissed him and held his hand. That had to mean something.


	7. Chapter 7

Draco was sick to his stomach. He huddled in the last toilet cubicle in the Slytherin washroom and tried to talk himself down. His hands trembled and his face was green. It was late, everyone else was asleep.

He had held Harry's hand. There was no confusion this time, he had definitely done it. Harry had started it by hooking his pinkie, but Draco had made the definitive grab. And that was terrifying.

There was no way it would work, not even as a one time fling. They were too different. It would be awful. It would all unravel and they would be at each other's throats again, trying to kill each other just like during the war. It couldn't happen.

He reminded himself that just because he was attracted to someone, that didn't mean he had to act on it. He was attracted to a lot of people. Blaise Zabini was a bloody heartthrob, but he knew better than to act on it. Harry Potter was still Harry flipping Potter, patron saint of do-gooders everywhere. He was sickening, full of himself, too bloody precious to stand without wanting to curse him mercilessly. Being good looking didn't change that.

He'd gotten too wrapped up in their rivalry. That's what it was. He had gotten their adversarial relationship all mixed up with sexual attraction and now the whole thing was one big turn on. He needed to recognize it for what it was, and set it to rights.

Slowly the trembling passed and he was able to return to bed. He promised himself he would get control of his urges and would make no more mistakes. Tomorrow would be an intense day on the pitch, certainly crucial for proving their abilities. If he was going to win this wager and make the team he needed to be in top form.

After another pointless day of broken concentration he made his way down to the locker room just before three o'clock. He was the first one there and changed quickly so he could be first on the field. He mounted and kicked off, figuring he might as well get a few warm-up laps in before everyone else arrived.

At exactly three o'clock a piercing whistle rang out and Nigel called for everyone huddle up. Draco descended towards the other six candidates. He was careful to keep his face emotionless, and to regard Harry with no more and no less attention than anyone else.

Tex and Nigel were standing at the base of the Slytherin stands, wands in hand. Draco admitted to himself that he had been wrong to assume the Yank was a muggle.

"Come on in, folks," Tex called. The players walked in close. "We're gonna send you out one by one and test your skills as Seekers, Chasers and Keepers." He flicked his wand and a Snitch appeared in the air before him, which then launched away over the pitch at high speed. "You're gonna need to be on the lookout for incoming balls. Stay alert."

"What about Beaters?" Ginny piped up.

"Good question, Red," Tex nodded. "We ain't looking for Beaters today."

"They picked up two Beaters at Durmstrang," Draco said casually to no one in particular.

Tex leveled an appraising gaze at him. "Your Headmistress was right," he said. "News travels fast around here."

"First up is Paul Pansley," Nigel read the name from his clipboard. "You three will do laps around the pitch until you're called." He pointed to Draco, Ginny and the seventh year Slytherin boy whose name Draco had never bothered to learn.

They ascended in a line while one of the Ravenclaw boys sailed up to the home team goal hoops. They set off to circle the stands as Tex and Nigel climbed the stairs to the Slytherin seats, then took turns manifesting Quaffles and Snitches and hurling them at the boy. They sat back casually in their seats and flicked their wands lazily as they eyed his performance. As he caught or missed each ball it dissolved again and a new one manifested.

Draco picked up speed, trying to stay ahead of the other two. He alternated between watching the Ravenclaw boy and eyeing the other players behind him. He knew the Weasley girl couldn't stay behind him for long, and the instant she tried to nudge ahead of him he surged forward to keep the lead. She pushed again but he stayed in front. He was no longer watching the Ravenclaw boy, all he wanted to do was keep Ginny Weasley behind him. He cast a sneer over his shoulder so she would know he was intentionally racing and saw the look of determination on her face.

When the whistle pealed again he was so startled that be nearly crashed into a flag pole. Nigel called for Peter and Ginny to switch. This round was less fun. Neither the Ravenclaw boy nor the Slytherin seventh year was interested in racing. They were happy to let him set the pace. Boring. No sense of competition.

The seventh year Slytherin was up next and Ginny returned to the pack. Draco braced himself for another race but her expression was grim, exhausted from the barrage of exercises. Draco felt like he would go mad if he had to circle much longer.

Finally Nigel called his name and he bolted for the goal hoops like he'd been given a reprieve. He had to shake the cobwebs from his brain and focus as the balls came arcing through the air. The exercise was tougher than it seemed. One moment a golden snitch was zipping past, the next a Quaffle was dropping down from above or heading straight for a goal hoop.

The Quaffles were easier. Draco had no problem intercepting and batting them away from the goal. The snitch was harder, and he missed three that should have been easy. He blamed the long, laborious ride beforehand for dulling his senses.

Finally they were called in for landing. Draco was surprised by how exhausted he was. He'd played plenty of games but this was an entirely different experience. He handed his broom over to Harry and flopped down onto the grass with a groan. He was pretty sure he had blown it. He had missed three snitches, for Merlin's sake.

It was Harry's turn to ascend with the other Ravenclaw boy and the girl from Hufflepuff. As with Draco, they made Harry circle until the other two were finished. Finally it was his turn and he darted straight to the goal posts like he was eager to start.

Draco sat up and squinted at his rival. His form was good, alert and crouched for speed. He missed several Quaffles and actually let a few scores through. That couldn't bode well. Draco wondered if Harry was as shaken and distracted by last night as he was.

Suddenly a barrage of snitches fired off in a volley, pelting at him at top speed. Harry dodged and wove and snatched them out of the air, missing a few but catching a remarkable portion of the whole. The barrage went on and on, surely driving Harry to the point of exhaustion. Finally they stopped and the two recruiters called everyone in for a landing.

Harry was drenched in sweat when he touched down. He handed the broom back to Draco with an apologetic wince. The handle was slick with perspiration.

"Sorry. I'll clean it for you when we're done," he said, his voice thick with fatigue.

"Huddle up," Tex waved them in close. "Good work today. Nigel and I are gonna put our thinkin' caps on and decide what's next. Your Headmistress has asked us not to share any decisions until after finals, so we'll be back in a week to let you know whether or not you made the cut. Try not to think about it, what's done is done, think about your studies and good luck. Thank you for your time and we'll see you in a week." And with that, they stowed their wands and departed.

"Are you kidding me?" the seventh year Slytherin said. "We're not going to find out for a week?"

"Come on, y'all, let’s hit the locker rooms. Yeehaw!" Ginny put on a terrible twangy accent and tossed her arm around Harry's shoulder.

Harry cast a quick look back at Draco but allowed himself to be led away. Draco was relieved. He didn't think it was a good idea to spend any more time talking to Harry Potter.

In fact, he held that policy for the rest of the week and all through finals. It was an easy policy, studying and cramming had everyone fully occupied. He found he didn't need to directly avoid Harry, it just sort of worked out that way for the best.

Finals week arrived in no time, and then passed in the blink of an eye. Before they knew it, results were posted and it was all over. Draco did well. He had told Harry that he had no particular future plans, but the truth was that he had been secretly rolling around the idea of becoming a healer. He didn't know if he would ever go through with it, but he needed good N.E.W.T. scores in order to try. He'd done very well, and when no one was looking he inspected the posted scores of one Harry J. Potter to confirm that he had done well enough for the Auror Academy. Not that he cared.

The recruiters returned the day of the Last Day Feast. The news spread instantly through the school, and within twenty minutes of their arrival everyone knew. Draco was in the courtyard with his housemates when the Head Girl arrived with a note summoning him to the library at four thirty.

"This is it, mate," Blaise peered over his shoulder at the brief parchment. "What do you think they'll say?"

"I think they'll throw a five year contract and a mountain of Galleons at me," Draco said loudly, his tone set to maximum pompousness.

"I heard Potter put up a good show," Blaise said smoothly, characteristically unable to let Draco have a moment of unblemished confidence.

"He's all show," Greg said. "Malfoy is the better player."

"We'll see, won't we?" Blaise smiled sweetly. Such was life in Slytherin house. Your best friends would applaud your successes and a moment later savor your failures.

Time had been flying up until that point. Now that the summons was here, it slammed into slow motion. Draco slogged through the afternoon, miserably checking the clock every few minutes and lamenting its crawl. He wandered from room to room in the dungeons, packing his belongings and trying not to watch the time. When four thirty rolled around he was already at the library door, sweating like he was walking into a trap.

The door swung open and Harry appeared behind it. He had a scroll of parchment in his hand, and Draco was certain it had to be a contract. He had made the team for sure. Whether he would take it over the Caerphilly Catapults or not was another question, but surely he'd been offered a position.

Harry looked surprised and slipped the scroll behind his back. "I've been asked not to say anything until they meet with everyone.”

"Quite all right," Draco said coolly.

Harry held his eyes for a moment, searching them for something. Draco tried not to let his expression soften. Play it cool, he told himself. Remember your policy.

Suddenly Harry reached out and squeezed Draco's hand, then he was gone in a rustle of school robes and parchment. Draco was frozen, his hand resonating with that brief contact. Sodding Saint Potter, he swore to himself, but couldn't summon up enough offense to shake the lingering thrill Harry had shot through his fingers.

"Mister Malfoy, right on time," the cowboy called from within the library.

Draco entered and let the door swing shut behind him. The library was empty except for the recruiters. His palms started to sweat. He sat across the table from the two men and waited silently for them to speak first.

"I'm not the type to drag things out," Tex said in a clipped, businesslike tone, his Texas twang muted to the point that it was almost unnoticeable. Draco marveled at the change. "So let me say first and foremost that you showed skills and guts during tryouts. And by sharing your broom you showed strong team values. We want to offer you a contract."

A smile spread across Draco's face in spite of his efforts to stay calm and neutral. His heart exploded into a thousand tiny adrenaline-fueled chunks which raced through his body like fire. He had made the team!

"Take a moment to read it over," Nigel pushed a parchment scroll across the table.

Draco noticed immediately that it looked identical to Harry's scroll. So he must have made it, too. But wait, that meant they had hired two Seekers. Which meant one of them was first string and one was second string. His elation soured as he wondered whether he was second string.

"Open it up already, son," Tex sat back in his chair and leveled a steady gaze at him. He had a toothpick in his mouth and his cowboy hat was slung over the post of his chair.

Draco unrolled it and scanned it quickly. A respectable salary, contract for one year with right of first refusal to re-opt the following year, et cetera. He flicked his eyes over it again and suddenly a confusing word popped off of the page.

"Keeper?" he asked. "This must be the wrong one."

"It's the right one," Nigel leaned forward on his elbows. "We'd like you to join the team as our first string Keeper."

"I don't understand," Draco's bloodstream was a strange cocktail of hormones, some elated, some disappointed, some confused. "I'm not a Keeper. I've never played Keeper. I'm a Seeker."

"That's where your school's coach did you wrong," Tex smiled in a fatherly way. "You've been a Keeper from the start."

"You can't tell that from two days of exercises," Draco protested. "I should be your Seeker, I promise."

"You haven't got the temperament," Nigel disagreed. "Seekers spend most of their time circling and looking for the Snitch. It's a long, tedious position with a burst of speed and glory at the end. You don't have the stamina for the tedium. You get bored. You get distracted. You pay more attention to the other players than the search. You rely on the other Seeker to spot the Snitch first."

Draco scowled. Of course all of that sounded familiar. But he didn't like being analyzed by a near stranger.

"You're fast like a Seeker, you're competitive like a Seeker, you have reflexes like a Seeker. But you need action and movement. You need to be in a position where it pays to watch the other players," Nigel continued. "During the tryouts you didn't miss the Quaffle once. Did you realize that?"

"No," Draco anticipated praise.

"You're fast, you're agile, you're a hell of a flyer," Tex said proudly. "You've got the makings of a first rate Keeper, the kind that could end up in the record books."

"You really think so?" Draco gingerly hefted the contract and considered his words. The amount of money in the offer was not insubstantial. They weren't offering false flattery. They must really think he would be good at it. The question was whether he wanted to do it. "Did you offer the Seeker position to Potter?" he asked suddenly.

"We certainly did," Nigel said firmly. "That boy is going to be a star player."

"Did he sign?" Draco didn't want to admit it to himself, but his decision depended on Harry's decision.

"Right before you got here," Tex nodded. "He asked about you, too. Wanted to know if we had any plans for you."

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing," Tex said seriously. "I don't talk about business unless it's a sure thing."

"We made a wager," Draco explained weakly.

"That's what he said," Tex smirked. "Y'all are gonna have to knock that kind of bullshit off. Signed players ain't allowed to bet." He dropped back into his home-spun accent again.

"Okay," Draco nodded, realizing belatedly that he meant both betting and the offer. "I'll sign."

"That's what I wanted to hear," Tex beamed.

"Welcome aboard," Nigel smiled for the first time since his arrival. He offered a quill and Draco inked his signature on two copies of the contract. They kept one and gave him the other one to keep.

"Do us a favor and don't go blabbing about it until we're done meeting with everyone," Tex said. "Should be wrapped up by suppertime."

Draco shook their hands and slipped the scroll into the inner pocket of his robe. He exited the library and let the Hufflepuff girl in behind him. He was practically walking on air, finally letting himself feel fully how much he had wanted to make the team.

Keeper. He had never really thought much about Keepers. But now that he thought of it, now that he was one, he realized how terribly important the position was. Keepers were frequently team captains, usually strong and athletic, and he thought he could fit in nicely to that mold.

He was practically bursting with excitement over the news. He knew there was no way he could keep it to himself if he returned to Slytherin house, so he went outside and took a stroll down to the lake until suppertime. He couldn't stop smiling to himself. He was a professional Quidditch player now. He would be in the papers, in magazines, there would be posters of him on the walls of little children’s bedrooms. Fans would aspire to be like him. His imagination ran amok.

When it was finally suppertime he headed back up to the school with a devilishly showy plan in mind. There was still the matter of the wager to deal with, and he wanted to make a splash. He waited in the corridor until everyone was seated. Then he made his move.

He pushed open the doors to the Great Hall and strode in with his cockiest swagger. Every head in the place swiveled as he went directly to the Gryffindor table. Harry looked up in surprise at his approach and stood warily, not sure what to expect.

There was that delicious feeling again, knowing he was about to surprise his rival with the unexpected. It really was better than a simple insult.

"Potter," he said loudly. "I've come to collect on our wager."

"You've what?" Harry looked confused now. "Wait, you're supposed to pay me."

"A hundred Galleons if I make the team," Draco said clearly. He had the room's full attention.

"But I made the team," Harry scrambled in his robe to find his scroll. "They just signed me as Seeker. How can you--"

"A hundred Galleons if I make the team," Draco whipped his scroll out and handed it to Harry.

Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he quickly scanned the contract. He looked up in disbelief and a smile quirked his lips.

"Keeper?" he said. "They signed you as Keeper?"

"Pay up, Potter," Draco had a hard time not grinning.

"But he made the team, too," Hermione piped up, her sense of fairness going into overdrive. "Weren't you supposed to pay him if he made the team?"

"Quite right," Draco dug into his pocket and handed Harry a hundred Galleon coin.

"You nutter," Harry muttered under his breath. He dug into his pocket and fished out his own coin, then pressed it into Draco's hand. "Looks like we're going to be teammates."

The next thing Draco knew Harry was throwing his arms around him in a bear hug. He went rigid, terrified that his hands would betray him in front of everyone. This wasn't how he had planned it at all.

"Hogwarts is sending two players to the pros?" Ron looked elated.

"Three!" Ginny Weasley popped up out of her seat with a scroll in her hand. "Chaser!"

She ran over to Harry and Draco and threw her arms around both of them. The Great Hall went up in a big cheer as Harry and Ginny engulfed Draco in their enthusiasm. What was happening? This wasn't right!

He squirmed his way free, and stared at them in shock. He adjusted the collar of his robe and forced his panic down, searching for a retort. Finally he said, "Two Gryffindors? Well now I'm reconsidering my contract." A chuckle scattered across the Slytherin table. It wasn't much, but it helped. He felt a little less violated.

After supper Draco was lauded as a hero in the Slytherin common room. Someone broke out an illicit supply of beer and passed it around the seventh and eighth years, who drank with abandon. They would be leaving Hogwarts tomorrow, never to return. It was the perfect time to drink and be merry.

It was overwhelming for Draco. The last few weeks had been incredibly stressful, both scholastically and personally, and now he had a sports career to look forward to. He didn't know how to process it all. He hadn’t even told his mother yet, for Merlin's sake!

Around midnight he managed to slip out of the dungeon unnoticed and escape to the courtyard outside. He was a bit pissed, just enough to feel pleasantly woozy. He walked with an overly smooth gait and somewhere around the courtyard wall decided it probably wasn't a good idea to go wandering in this state. He flopped down onto a bench, then rolled to his side, and then finally laid flat out on his back.

He was pondering the stars and fate and the future when he heard footsteps. A moment later someone sat down next to him. A hand touched his head and fingers gently ran through his hair. Draco smiled at the pleasant sensation, too tipsy to wonder who his benefactor was.

"I thought I would be rid of you after the war," a familiar voice said. "But now I find out we're going to be playing for the same team."

"Playing for the same team," Draco snorted drunkenly. "Is that a queer joke?"

"No," Harry sounded surprised. His fingers paused.

"Aw, don't stop," Draco waved his hand above his head and caught Harry's arm. He pushed it back and forth to try to force him to move again. Harry chuckled and obediently went back to running his fingers through Draco's hair.

"I can't figure you out," Harry sounded a bit buzzed. The goody goody Gryffindors must be partying, too. "One minute you're my enemy, the next you're acting like my friend. Or kissing me. Or holding my hand. And then acting like it never happened."

"It's not supposed to happen," Draco said placidly. He hadn't looked at Harry since he sat down.

"Why not?" Harry asked. "Do you like me?"

Draco sat up slowly, his head spinning a little, just enough to remind him of what he'd had to drink. He looked at his rival, his strong, handsome face and those deep green eyes and those absurd round glasses and that untamed mop he called hair. He was charming in his own way.

"That isn't really the point," Draco felt that was a pretty clever way to dodge the question.

"So you do like me," Harry said.

"It's not the point," Draco insisted.

"I like you," Harry's voice was shy. He bit his lip in a way that made Draco think of biting it, too.

"That's not the point either," Draco felt less sure of his evasion.

"So," Harry's nervousness was radiating like the sun. "So we like each other."

Draco didn't answer. His stomach started doing flip-flops. Finally he said, "it can't happen."

"Why not?"

"Because you're Harry bloody Potter," Draco snapped. "You always have been and you always will be. We're too different. We're opposites. We're enemies. It would never work." He shook his head vehemently. "We would kill each other. It would be a mess. We would end up hating each other even more than we already do."

Harry shut him up the only way possible, by cutting off his words at the source. His soft, warm lips pressed firmly against Draco's, kissing him with a fire that Draco hadn't known he possessed. His hand slid up Draco's arm as he shifted closer on the bench, drawing their bodies closer together.

Draco couldn't resist, not in his present condition. His hands moved on their own and wrapped around Harry's waist. He pulled him in close and kissed him back with urgency. He felt so good, so willing. Draco flicked his tongue across Harry's and drew it into his mouth. He sucked and explored as his hands stroked Harry's back. Harry's hands slid down, pushing under Draco’s shirt in search of skin.

The sound of heavy breathing, the wet smack of deep kisses, the involuntary grunt and groan of desire filled the air between them. Draco's heart raced and his cock begged for attention. He slipped Harry's hand over the bulge in his trousers and Harry moaned gratefully as he stroked against the thin fabric. Draco pressed closer, desperate for release, for release with the boy he had been watching for years. He reached his hand beneath Harry's robe and found the bulge in his trousers,, too, his head spinning with the revelation of Harry Potter's cock beneath his palm.

Suddenly the doors of the school clattered open and several students came barrelling down the steps. Harry and Draco flew apart, huddled on opposite ends of the bench and trying to calm their heavy breathing. Their classmates paid them no mind and stampeded past without looking or speaking to them. A moment later they were alone again.

"It can't happen," Draco said painfully.

"What about just tonight," Harry's cheeks were flushed and his voice was filled with need.

"We don't work that way," Draco hated himself for being rational. "I can't stay away from you and you can't stay away from me. It's always been that way."

"So then it's inevitable," Harry said.

"It can't be," Draco shook his head.

"So what, then?" Harry's eyes darkened. "We like each other but we can't be together because we hate each other?"

"Exactly," Draco stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. "We've got to be able to play on the same team now. We can't bollocks it up by getting involved when we both know it won't end well."

"I don't know that," Harry said softly. "How can you?"

"I just do," Draco said. Then before he could change his mind he went inside.


	8. Chapter 8

Draco hated Durmstrang, that much was obvious from his letters. Harry smiled to himself as he offered a treat to the general post owl and scanned the neatly penned words that flowed gracefully down the most recently delivered parchment. Specifically, Draco hated Durmstrang graduates, he felt like he was being held hostage, and he definitely didn’t like having to live in a muggle neighborhood.

It had been two months since they had signed their contracts, and Tex and Nigel had split the team up into two training camps. Harry and the Chasers were moved out to the countryside to an old three-storey farmhouse with its own Olympic sized pool and dedicated Quidditch pitch for training. Draco and the Beaters had been sent far away to lift weights, build muscle, and strengthen their bodies before the season began.

Harry thought about Draco every day. He thought about how he had said in no uncertain terms that they couldn’t be together, even though his body clearly sent a different message. He thought about his smile, his devilish laugh when he goaded a reaction from Harry, he thought about the wicked sparkle in his eye when he was more amused with himself than anyone else was. He felt like he had gotten a taste of something incredibly addictive, only to have it taken away just as the cravings set in. Only one question greeted him when he woke up every morning: was today the day when the team would be reunited?

“Another whinging letter?” Ginny peered over Harry’s shoulder and hugged him from behind.

“It’s not whinging,” Harry lied; it was totally whinging. “You’d be upset, too, if you were sent off to live in a tiny flat with a couple of smelly Durmstrang boys.” He scanned the letter again. “He’s constantly on about how they spit and sometimes forget to flush the loo.”

“That’s disgusting,” Ginny admitted. “And they’re coming here to live with us at some point. We’d better make sure they know the rules from the start.”

Harry didn’t envy Draco and the Beaters, Magnus and Franz. They would be joining a houseful of teammates who had gotten to know each other well over the last two months. They had already chosen their bedrooms, worked out their schedules, learned each other’s personalities, and figured out how to get along. It would be three against eight. Coming in as an outsider wouldn’t be easy. He hoped his teammates were as sensitive to the matter as he was.

“Did Tex tell you that the story finally ran?” Ginny led him into the screened-in porch and flopped onto the sofa. “According to the Daily Prophet, you and I are officially an item again.”

“Have you seen it yet?” Harry grimaced. He had reluctantly agreed to be part of Tex’s plan to create a buzz about the team, which meant allowing the public to think he and Ginny were dating. Tex had promised it would only be a short-term story and no one expected them to actually be together. But it was awkward.

“Zane has a copy,” Ginny jerked her thumb towards the kitchen. “I think the picture is cute. You and I always made a cute couple.”

“Ginny,” Harry groaned. “It’s hard enough--”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Harry,” she rolled her eyes. “I know I’m not manly enough for you. It’s gossip column fodder, just go with it.”

“I guess.”

She was right, it was just gossip, something to raise the public’s interest in the new team while Tex pursued sponsorship and acceptance into the League. But he worried what certain people would think, namely one Draco Malfoy, if the story wasn’t explained properly.

“Have you seen what’s going on downstairs?” Stella poked her head through the doorway, her eyes wide in amazement. “They’re installing a weight room.”

“We’re going to lift weights?” Harry frowned.

“Maybe,” Stella flexed her arm with a growl. “Although I think I’m muscular enough, don’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Harry smirked. The slight Chaser was the team’s backup Seeker, and like Harry she possessed a lithe, slim physique that was built for speed. Not that Harry was skinny, not by any means. Nigel had them on a strict regimen of swimming and running, both of which had benefitted Harry physically. He was stronger than he ever had been, and he could admit to himself when he looked in the mirror that he’d filled out nicely. But he would never be muscular, and frankly never should be as a Seeker.

“Antonio told me that Nigel said that the Keeper and Beaters have been lifting weights all summer,” Harris slipped past Stella and dropped into one of the recliners. “He keeps using the words muscle mass and core strength.”

“I’ve heard one of the Beaters is huge. Norwegian bloke,” Stella said as though that explained it. “Hopefully the weight room is just for them and we won’t be expected to use it.”

“I wouldn’t put anything past Nigel at this point,” Ginny grumbled, rubbing her leg muscles painfully.

They heard feet clomping up from the cellar and waited expectantly until Nigel and Tex summoned them to the foyer. They assembled and quieted quickly, all eyes focused on their coach.

“Today’s the day,” he said cryptically, then passed around portkeys. Harry wasn’t sure what he meant, but he had no time to wonder as his navel jerked and he whizzed across the countryside at a dizzying speed. When he stopped he was standing in the middle of the town square in Hogsmeade, with his teammates rapidly materializing around him.

“Let’s go,” Tex said, leading them off towards the Three Broomsticks Inn. Harry noticed that Nigel hadn’t joined them.

They jostled their way into the pub and Tex ordered everyone to push tables together until they had thirteen seats assembled. Harry’s heart raced. The other three must be joining them today. He swallowed hard and glanced nervously at Ginny. She knew about his preference for men, but he’d kept mum about his attraction to Draco Malfoy. It seemed like a good policy for many reasons, not the least of which was her relative dislike for their Slytherin schoolmate.

But perhaps more importantly, Draco had made it very clear at their last meeting that he didn’t want to pursue anything with Harry. He was attracted to Harry, that much was obvious. But for whatever reason he’d decided they couldn’t be together. He knew he should respect that.

Then again, he thought as he sat at the end of the table between Ginny and Stella, what was to say he couldn’t change his mind? In a matter of days Harry had gone from knowing with certainty that he would never have a shot with Draco to kissing him in the school courtyard. If that was possible, why wasn’t it possible that Draco could come around and realize that being together was a good idea? Those frequent letters he’d sent by owl all summer seemed like an argument in favor of that possibility. The notes were always cordial in tone, never overly familiar, but the fact that he was reaching out to Harry at all had to mean something, didn’t it?

His hands were fidgety and his stomach was a nervous wreck. He couldn’t wait to see Draco. But he knew he had to play it cool. But he was so excited to see him. But he had to be casual. He was so conflicted.

The door to the pub creaked open, flooding the interior of the inn with midday sunlight. Nigel entered first, followed by a tall, broad, fair-haired man who was surely the Norwegian Beater Harris had mentioned. Next came a swarthy man who was as broad as he was tall, a muscular powerhouse who was surely the other Beater. And behind them, silhouetted by the sun outside, was Draco. Sweet Merlin.

Harry barely recognized him at first, so extraordinary was the change. Draco had filled out significantly since school let out, and his shoulders, arms, and chest captured Harry’s attention to the complete obscuration of everything else in the room. His button-down shirt strained across his pectoral muscles, and his thumbs hooked in his belt loops gave just the slightest emphasis to the new bulge in his biceps.

“Close your mouth, you’re drooling,” Ginny whispered in Harry’s ear, tossing her arm around his shoulder and pulling him in close. “They’re all quite fit, aren’t they?” Harry had to agree. Of course he was quite fit now, too, but nothing so dramatic as Draco. He wished he’d worn something that showed off his improvements a bit more clearly.

Draco looked nervous. His gray eyes darted around the group as though unsure of who he should speak to. Harry couldn’t let himself go unnoticed one moment longer. He jumped out of his chair and darted across the pub.

“Malfoy!” he shouted, and without thinking better of it he threw his arms around the other boy’s neck. Draco hesitated just for a fraction of a breath before hugging him back.

“Hello, Potter,” he said in Harry’s ear.

"Merlin, look at you," Harry stood back. He eyed Draco's exposed biceps appreciatively. "You look amazing."

"I've been busy," Draco said simply.They looked into each other's eyes for a moment, an oasis of quiet in a jostling sea of activity. Harry's hands were still on his arms, and Draco’s eyes darted around the room nervously before stepping out of his embrace.

Tex was passing out muggle t-shirts and shoved one into each of their hands. He instructed them to put them on before sitting down. Draco hesitated, looking around for a private place to change. Harry didn’t even try to conceal the fact that he was watching him, hoping for a glimpse. He knew his gaze was lecherous but the rapidly returning flush of desire overpowered his sense of decorum. Draco met his eyes and held them for a moment. Then he yanked his shirt off and gave his rival an eyeful.

"Bloody hell," Harry murmured. They were standing at the fringes of the group, locked in their familiar duality.

Draco smirked and tensed his muscles for a brief moment before drawing the t-shirt over his head. It was snug and clung to his body.

Harry glanced over at the others and lowered his voice. "Can I speak with you privately?" He turned and headed for the loo at the other end of the bar. He wasn’t thinking ahead, what he would do or even what he wanted to do. He just knew he needed Draco to join him in a moment of privacy, somewhere, somehow.

Draco followed closely without questioning his intent. Harry’s senses were on high alert, the old draw that had kept them tied together throughout school was back in full effect.

Harry pushed through the door to the restroom with Draco on his heels. As soon as he crossed the threshold he seized Draco by the arms and pushed him back, pressing their bodies together and kissing him roughly. Harry was stunned by his own directness. Draco had been clear with him that this was a bad idea. But Draco didn't argue. He kissed back with the same raw need that had built over two months of frustrating separation. He wrapped his arms around Harry and pulled him in close, pushing against his mouth like he could devour him alive.

"Fuck, Malfoy," Harry broke off suddenly, his voice rough with desire. "Look at you."

Draco preened. "I know," he said confidently as he tensed his biceps under Harry's hands.

They stared at each other, each wanting to proceed but not sure whether it was okay. Harry leaned in more slowly this time and kissed Draco gently. He ran his hands through Draco’s hair and caressed his ear. This wasn’t lust, this was something else, something that had been growing in Harry’s heart for months, well before they had been separated for training. He felt Draco tense under his touch and knew instinctively that it scared him. Harry understood. This was something enemies couldn't share. Time apart hadn’t resolved all of the incompatibilities that had driven Draco to spurn Harry’s previous attempt. He instantly felt guilty. What was he doing, snogging Draco Malfoy in the men’s room of a pub?

He withdrew apologetically. “Sorry,” he said. “I know you don’t want this.”

“It’s okay,” Draco’s face was long with regret. He was still holding Harry closely, but the desire had become awkward and confusing. They both wanted it, that much was clear. But they weren’t in agreement about what was possible. It was the same conflicting dynamic as ever.

"We should get back out there," Harry stepped back. "We probably ought to keep this to ourselves."

"Agreed," Draco nodded. "You go first."

Harry exited and casually made his way across the pub to the gaggle of teammates at the far end of the room. He flopped down into his chair and smiled with false brightness at Ginny, who reached over and drew his arm around her shoulders.

“I think Stella and Vaishali are competing for Magnus’ attention already,” she whispered into his ear. Harry couldn’t help laughing, knowing what he did about the large man’s personal hygiene from Draco’s letters.

Draco arrived and sat down across the table from them. He eyed Harry and Ginny’s affectionate embrace and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Harry smiled weakly and wished he could explain. He didn’t want the Slytherin boy to get the wrong idea.

"Looking good, Malfoy," Ginny called across the table with a saucy wink. Draco turned his raised eyebrow on her and a slow, sly smile crept across his lips, too. Harry flushed. Ginny had no idea what they had been up to just moments before. Clearly Draco felt no guilt about snogging the bloke who appeared to be her boyfriend.

"There you are, Blondie," Tex finally noticed Draco to his left. "Looking a bit healthier, ain't ya?"

"Spending two months in detention will do that to you," Draco said dryly, accepting a pint that was delivered from above.

"Everyone listen up," Tex hauled himself to his feet and called the meeting to order. "Lets go around the table and get introduced. You first, Red."

Ginny laughed and introduced herself as a Chaser, then Harry named himself as Seeker. Next came the other six Chasers, four male and two female. Then the Beaters, Magnus and Franz. Then finally Draco, the Keeper.

"These three over here are cross-training as Beaters," Nigel spoke up, indicating Vaishali, Harris and Levi. "There's your backup Seeker," he nodded at Stella. "And there's your backup Keeper," he pointed to Franz.

"Now if ya'll will take a moment to read your shirts," Tex said, "that's the team name. We've been sponsored by the Manchester wizarding community, and we're gonna to make them proud."

"Manchester Maulers, eh? When is our first game?" Vaishali asked.

"Still workin' out the details of the schedule," Tex said lightly. "Ya'll got some uptight officials over here that don't like newcomers. Almost can't get a team going unless you can prove it was established in the twelfth century."

“So we have a team, but no games,” Draco said. All heads swivelled his direction.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, Blondie,” Tex dismissed him with a smirk. “You let me manage those details. Your job is to show up to practice, listen to Nigel, and stay fit.”

Draco stared at him in horror. What had he just said? Harry struggled not to burst out laughing. Draco glared at him, not the slightest bit amused.

“I’ve got a couple tricks up my sleeve, too,” Tex added, after a long pull on his beer. “We’re gonna create a buzz. Get some media attention. Once we’ve got the eyes and ears of the fan base, the League is going to have to let us play.” He turned to Harry and Ginny and smiled approvingly, “We got our first buzz here, with our famous Seeker and the love of his life. Made the paper today.”

“Love of his life,” Ginny snorted and batted her eyes at Harry.

“You’ll be surprised how far a romance story will go,” Tex said. “Mark my words, Red. You and Specs here are gonna to get us the attention we need.” He looked around the table. “As for the rest of you lot, we’ve got an image consultant coming in this week. Get you cleaned up and camera ready.”

Draco and the two Beaters looked lost. Harry thought it might be a good idea to help explain if they could get a moment alone. Although the thought of being alone with Draco inspired a different sort of need, of which explaining PR was not a part.

"Dreamboat over here is going to be our poster boy," Tex was saying, pointing to Draco.

"What?" Draco sat straight up in his chair. "What did you call me?"

"You're our teen heartthrob," Tex clarified, to Draco's continued confusion. "And Big Guy and Rusty here are going to be role models for the boys," he nodded to the two Beaters.

"Is anyone following this?" Draco demanded, looking around the table. "I haven't a clue what he's on about. Can someone explain?" His eyes landed on Harry, who tried to hold his gaze and communicate the rather dirty thoughts he was entertaining right at that moment.

"Get this," Zane leaned forward, stealing Draco’s attention from Harry. "He wants to make us appeal to Quidditch fan base so the League will want us to play."

"Darn tootin'" Tex nodded. "Now don't get me wrong, ya'll still gotta be top notch players. I didn't bankroll this operation to go home empty handed. You're gonna take home a League Cup if Nigel has anything to say about it. But in the meantime let's get your faces out there and create a buzz."

Draco shook his head in wonder. Harry stared at him intensely and tried to catch his attention again. He set his pint glass down and finally looked up to meet Harry’s gaze. He stared back, then pointedly looked at Ginny. Harry's cheeks flushed. Clearly he really would need to use their next moment alone to explain PR, rather than doing what he would prefer to do. Assuming Draco would let him, of course.


	9. Chapter 9

Draco was simply overwhelmed.

Two months of living out in a muggle suburb with two smelly Durmstrang graduates, consuming mass quantities of protein and vitamins, pumping iron, and running miles upon miles every day had left him weary, hopeless and defeated. Nigel hadn’t told them how long their isolation would last, so every day he awoke to the reality that he was still there, out of contact with everyone he had ever known, with no idea when he would be set free. He felt like he’d been sent away to a work camp.

His mother had expressed fears that that was exactly what he was walking into. Of course, she didn't enjoy Quidditch and didn't understand the desire to play such a dangerous sport. She didn't know why her son, her only family left in the world, would want to run off and labor and sweat instead of coming home to her. She didn't know why he would sign a contract when his whole life lay ahead of him, fully financed and totally comfortable. Draco couldn't explain it either, he just wanted it. And even in the depths of his worst despair, when the trainer wouldn't let him rest and when the Durmstrang Beaters reeked of unwashed pants, he still wanted it.

It was the first time he'd ever been truly challenged. Or rather, the first time he'd ever been truly challenged when he'd had the choice to either stick with it or walk away. He had signed the contract on his own, no one made the decision for him. And every morning he woke up and chose to walk down the block to the gym and put his body through the torture of lifting weights. And when he was exhausted and just wanted to go lie down, he chose to run.

His body was changing, and as it did so his mind changed, too. As he learned that he had some control over his life, that his future was his choice, the constant thrum of envy and derision in his head faded away. He found a calming zen in the pounding of his feet on pavement. Even the fact that they had been housed in a muggle neighborhood ceased to bother him. He was content to stop into the muggle coffee shop for an energy drink and a scone, and to pay with Pounds instead of Galleons. As long as those Durmstrang imbeciles left him alone he could find a place of contentment with this life. But only if the isolation was temporary.

When Nigel had dropped him off the first day he thought it was a joke. He had been told he would be joining his team, but in reality the older man had different plans for his Seeker and Chasers. They were being trained at a separate location with an emphasis on speed. All he wanted for his Beaters was strength, and his first priority for his Keeper was to pack on some muscle.

Over the course of two months Draco had watched his body change, transitioning from a slight, angular silhouette to a solid, sculpted athletic form. He was proud of his progress. He had never imagined he could look this way. He wasn't sure anyone in his family had ever looked this way. His mother would faint if she saw him now.

But there was another person whose reaction he had anticipated more.

He had thought about Harry a lot. He thought about him when he was running, thought about how he had said they could never be together because they were enemies. He remembered touching him and kissing him and fantasized about shagging him senseless. When he showered he ran his hands over his sculpted abdominal muscles and imagined Harry touching him there.

It was absurd. He had rejected Harry's advances. He had reminded himself all summer that there was no way he was waiting for Draco, no way he hadn't moved on. He wrote letters in a vain attempt to stay connected, but guarded his words carefully to make sure he didn’t come off as needy. He couldn’t be needy, he was the one who had rejected Harry, not the other way around. So he forced himself to ignore those thoughts, told himself it was still a terrible idea, that they were still incompatible and it would never be a good idea to hook up with a teammate anyway. They would just be friends and that was final.

But then Nigel had swept them away to Hogsmeade, and they had arrived at the Three Broomsticks, and he had been greeted by a wall of unfamiliar faces, and then in the middle of all of the chaos the one person he wanted to see had appeared. And those deep green eyes had devoured his new body, and that mouth had pressed against his with yearning, and that face had watched him intently across the table. How was he supposed to ignore that?

It was bloody overwhelming. And one simply doesn’t make clear decisions when one is overwhelmed. That was what Draco told himself as he stared at Harry, trying not to eye-fuck him as that Weasley bint crawled all over him. He wondered if he should feel guilty about feeling up her boyfriend in the loo. He didn’t feel guilty, he just wondered if he should.

He sternly reminded himself that he was not here to rekindle the old duality with Harry bleeding Potter. He was here to play Quidditch, nothing more. He would do himself a disservice to forget that. They were no more compatible now than they were back at Hogwarts. Two months separated didn’t change anything. It would be absolutely daft to lose track of his priorities now. He firmly recommitted himself to maintaining the distance between them.

When they were finished with their pints Tex settled the tab and shooed them outside. Nigel passed out Port Keys and they were gone in a flash. They arrived just outside of the gate of a large, old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. An enormous swath of fenced-in land extended far into the distance, towards the rambling hills on the horizon. The Chasers and Harry were clearly familiar with the location, and Draco felt himself pushed to the outside of the group again with the two Beaters he wasn't fond of.

"Protected by a civilian repelling charm. Or what you Brits call muggles," Tex said as he flicked his wand, an odd sight when combined with his cowboy hat. The gate swung open and the group passed through.

Harry hung back and walked with Draco behind the rest of the group. Their shoulders bumped and Harry's fingers brushed his hand. The memory of holding hands at Hogwarts came tumbling back, which he firmly stowed away again.

"Not now, Potter," Draco hissed. The slight contact had gone straight to his head and he really didn't relish the idea of making his sexual inclinations known to his teammates on the first day.

They entered the house and the Chasers gave the newcomers a tour. They clearly had formed a friendship over the last two months and were eager to bring the others into the fold.

"There's a practice pitch out back," the Chaser named Harris called.

"And a swimming pool," the girl named Stella added.

"Nigel has had us doing loads of laps," Harry said. "Says it builds stamina."

"Want to see your rooms?" Vaishali darted up the staircase to the second floor. "Six bedrooms on this floor, five bedrooms upstairs."

"I'll show you yours," Harry plucked at Draco's sleeve and led him past the landing to the top floor. They walked down to the end of the hall where two closed doors stood facing each other. "This is mine," Harry pointed to the left. "That one's yours," he pointed to the right.

"Are you the one who decided to put our rooms right next to each other?" Draco asked.

"Is it that obvious?" Harry grinned sheepishly.

"I told you I didn't want to pursue it," Draco reminded him.

"I know. But sometimes people change their minds," Harry cocked his head, his green eyes clear and sincere.

"Damn you, Potter," Draco sighed. "Get in here," he dragged Harry by the arm into the room designated as his and latched the door behind them.

As soon as they were alone he pulled Harry in and kissed him deeply. Damn that sodding Golden Boy. Why couldn't he take a hint? Why did he have to be so good looking? Why did he have to go and work out and look better than ever? Why did he have to be so sincere and so willing? Why did he have to be so amazing to touch and to hold and to kiss? It was annoying really, how perfect his mouth felt. It was annoying how soft and warm his lips were. It was annoying how good he smelled and how amazing his tongue was. And as Draco reached around to cup his buttocks he confirmed the continued existence of his annoyingly perfect arse.

"How dare you," he said between kisses. "Sodding Saint Potter," he kissed him again. "If you had left well enough alone," he paused for another kiss, "I wouldn't know what I was missing."

Harry sighed and let Draco maul him, his expression both needy and blissful. Draco worked his way down his neck to his collarbone, then shoved his t-shirt up to expose his long, lean abdomen. He ducked his head and ran his tongue up the center line from his navel to his throat.

"Dammit, Potter," he straightened up and dropped the hem of his shirt. "You even taste good. It's not bloody fair," he seized Harry again and kissed him furiously. Harry didn't try to speak, his eyes were half-lidded and glazed, and he pushed back with equal urgency.

Draco curled his arm around his waist and walked him backwards to the bed. He had barely registered the room's contents, but he had picked up the location of the mattress like it was a beacon. Harry went willingly, letting him guide his steps. Draco pushed him down and climbed on top of him, his head whirling and irrational with lust.

"Malfoy," Harry tried to speak around Draco's tongue. "The springs."

Draco lifted his head and looked at Harry like he was mad. What did that mean, the springs? Was that a request?

"They're squeaking," Harry's cheeks were flushed and he clutched Draco's shirt in his fists. His cock pushed eagerly through his trousers against Draco's.

"They're what?" suddenly Draco grinned devilishly and thrust his hips a few times, driving Harry mad as the bed bounced and squeaked.

"Everyone will hear us," Harry gasped as Draco pushed against his groin. "Zane's room is right below this one."

"Potter," Draco groaned and collapsed onto Harry's shoulder. "Don't say that."

"You can hear it yourself," Harry said into his ear. His breath was warm and raised goosebumps all along Draco's arms.

"Listen," Draco raised his head and arched an eyebrow. "I need to shag you. Not want. Need."

"I do too," Harry nodded.

"So where in Merlin's bloody pants can we go? Think fast."

"Get up," Harry pushed him aside and stood. His trousers were tented in a terribly unsubtle way, as were Draco's.

"Well you can't leave like that," Draco folded his arms disapprovingly across his chest as though he weren't in a similar state.

"Bollocks," Harry rubbed his haggard face. "If we can get downstairs we could try the equipment shed out back."

"A shed?" Draco snorted. "I am not shagging in a shed."

"Then you might not be shagging at all," Harry pointed out.

"You honestly can't come up with anything other than this rickety old bed or the shed out back?" Draco's annoyance was on the rise.

"I don't see you coming up with any ideas," Harry was equally frustrated.

"See, this is why I said we shouldn't do it," Draco jabbed his finger at Harry. "We're already fighting."

Harry looked hurt. He dropped his eyes and turned away. Draco immediately felt guilty. He couldn't get his head straight about it. He wanted Harry. He wanted to be with him, even in a non-sexual way. He had signed the Keeper contract only after confirming that Harry would be there, too. He'd looked forward to seeing him all summer. But Harry was his enemy. They hated each other. How could they be around each other when there was no way they could be around each other? It was a song they had danced to a thousand times over, year after year. The dance was familiar, comforting even. Even the annoyance was like an old friend.

He drew up short at that thought. Harry was like an old friend. Merlin, what was wrong with him? Of course he was.

He grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him into an embrace. "You're a bloody prat," he said into Harry's hair.

"You're a complete nutter," Harry replied weakly.

"This is how it is, you know," Draco said, "I'm always going to get on your nerves. And I'm always going to order you around and tease you. And you're always going to annoy me and stick your nose where it doesn't belong and be the bloody Seeker."

"I'm always going to wear glasses," Harry added.

"That's hardly in the same category, Potter," Draco said. "But you're thinking in the right direction."

"You mention them a lot," Harry said, stepping back and self-consciously adjusting the nose pads. "You don't like them."

"That's not true," Draco said before he could stop himself. Harry squinted at him dubiously. "They're an easy target. Tex calls you Specs for Merlin's sake."

"So you like them," Harry said.

"Well," Draco struggled to dial down the snarkiness. "They're you, aren't they?"

"Not always," Harry removed his glasses and held them out awkwardly to illustrate their independence from his face. His green eyes and well-shaped eyebrows were striking without the round frames.

"Damn you, Potter," Draco sighed and seized his lips again.

"Potter! Malfoy!" A voice shouted up the stairs. "Poolside in five minutes!"

"Bollocks," Harry scowled and raked his hand through his hair.

"Looks like we've got some time to figure out where we can get some privacy," Draco sighed heavily. He unlatched the door and they exited with palpable disappointment. Halfway down the stairs Draco turned as though he'd had a brilliant idea. "Maybe your girlfriend can think of something."

"Ginny's my ex," Harry said firmly. "The girlfriend thing is just for the papers."

"Does she know you're a poof?" Draco asked.

"I hate that word," Harry winced. "She knows I prefer blokes."

"Potter the Poofter," Draco chuckled as he turned and continued down the stairs.

"Watch yourself," Harry growled.

They passed through the kitchen at the back of the house, through the screened-in porch, and out into the back garden. Beyond a large stone patio there was an Olympic-sized swimming pool marked with lanes. Ten lanes, to be exact. There were eleven team members. Draco's keen instinct for manipulation knew what was coming.

"Every morning you will be down here at five thirty," Nigel said firmly. "Twenty laps each. Whoever is the last one down will have to wait for a free lane and will do thirty laps. Am I clear?"

"I believe a yessir is in order," Tex hooked his thumbs behind his belt buckle.

"Yessir," everyone said in unison.

"Tomorrow we start with swimming," Nigel said. "The pool is charmed to maintain a consistent temperature and divert rain, so bad weather is no excuse." He looked around the group sternly. "After that I want to see Harry, Magnus and Franz on the pitch on the home goals. Draco, you're on the away goals with the Chasers."

"All of us?" The chaser named Harris asked.

"All of you," Nigel nodded curtly. "We'll take a midday break, then you're to report for weight training."

"All of us?" Stella asked.

"All of you," Nigel said. "Before supper you'll do a run and then the evening is yours."

"What about today?" Zane asked.

"Today is a freebie," Tex said.

"After a run," Nigel corrected.

Everyone grumbled unenthusiastically and returned to the house to change into their trainers. Draco found his possessions had been delivered to his room, something he'd been too preoccupied to notice on his previous visit. He changed clothes and knocked on Harry's door when he was ready.

"Coming," Harry opened the door and smiled when he saw Draco waiting for him.

"Wipe that grin off of your face, Potter," Draco snarled. "You are on notice until you find somewhere private."

"Duly noted," Harry removed his glasses and tossed them onto the dresser. "Make sure I don't run out in front of any cars, okay?" Draco was touched by his effortless trust. He ducked his head and tried not to show it.

They headed out front to the road beyond the gates. Many of their teammates chose to do laps within the perimeter of the fenced property but Harry clearly had a destination in mind. They started straight away, mutually concerned that someone else might decide to come along for the companionship. Draco set the pace, his strong legs pushing the pavement with ease. Harry ran beside him, and their breath mingled in rhythm. They ran until the farmhouse was out of sight and they were surrounded by fields as far as the eye could see. An occasional old stone wall crawled off perpendicular to the road, leading to the low foothills in the distance. Harry turned north suddenly, following a rutted dirt road towards a copse of trees.

Draco followed obediently, hoping what Harry was heading for was better than a shed. The early September sun beat down on them and their t-shirts bore matching vees of perspiration. A bit of shade sounded heavenly.

"Watch your footing," Harry called as the path gradually became more and more overgrown. Draco was concerned about twisting an ankle. Harry finally slowed to a halt, his breath labored from the terrain. "This way," he pointed into the trees.

Draco could see the shimmer of water up ahead. They picked their way through the underbrush to the edge of a small river. The banks were lined with soft, thick grass and the trees dangled low branches over the water. It was quiet, just the babble of the flowing stream and the soft wind in the trees.

"I found this place back in July," Harry said. "After being stuck in the house with seven Chasers all day it's a nice place for some peace and quiet."

"It's all right," Draco said noncommittally. Actually, it was quite a bit better than all right, but he was nervous and edgy. Was this the place? Would it be worth the build up? Or would it be better to wait until it was spontaneous?

Harry knelt by the edge of the water and splashed his head. He wiped his hands down his face and mopped it off with the hem of his shirt. He then flopped onto the grass and kicked his shoes and socks off.

Draco hesitated for a moment, then followed suit. He splashed his face and removed his shoes and socks. He sat a little distance down the bank from Harry.

Harry stood and walked over to Draco, then sat back down next to him. 

"Where do you get off being so confident?" Draco curled his lip. "Why can't you be shy and awkward and nervous like a normal person?"

"I am shy and awkward and nervous," Harry said. "You're the one who's never shy and awkward and nervous."

"Are you kidding me?" Draco scoffed. "I'm shy and awkward and nervous right now. Only a Gryffindor would be thick enough to believe this act."

"What do you have to be nervous about?" Harry asked. He was still without his glasses and Draco felt like he would be swallowed up by his deep green eyes.

"Can you see me?" Draco asked suddenly. "Or am I just a big smear?"

"I can see you," Harry chuckled softly.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Draco flipped two fingers in a rude gesture and sneered crudely.

"Two," Harry reached out and deftly ensnared Draco's hand. He drew it to his lips and kissed his knuckles. An erotic thrill shivered up Draco's spine.

Harry leaned in closer and kissed him gently, as though asking for permission. Draco cupped his chin and kissed him back. Slowly their hands slipped around each other, and before he knew it Harry was leaning him back onto the soft green grass. He gripped Harry's shirt and rolled over so that he was lying on top and Harry was beneath. That was better.

They kissed sensuously, without the harried rush from earlier, without the panic of their first kiss, without the debate of their second. Draco didn't question it this time, it was simply too good to question. Harry reached his hands under Draco's shirt and pushed it over his head. He grunted as though pained as his eyes raked over Draco's chest and shoulders.

"No one should look that good," Harry moaned as though it was unfair.

"Glad you like it," Draco kissed him again, even more turned on by the open admiration. He pushed Harry's shirt over his head and cast it aside. "You're pretty stunning yourself," he murmured, a little self-conscious about speaking so shamelessly to his longtime rival.

Harry responded by shoving Draco's shorts down and exposing his cock for the first time. Not comfortable being the only one with a knob on display he shoved Harry's shorts off, too. They both gazed musingly at each other's engorged members.

"Well thank Merlin for that," Draco filled the silence.

"Yeah," Harry sighed appreciatively.

Their kissing and touching became more intense now. They pushed against each other, stroking and rubbing and gasping involuntarily at the rush of pleasure. Draco curled his hand around Harry's cock and pulled, completely enamoured of the way it perfectly fit his hand. Harry groaned and drew Draco down to his lips again and again.

"I want you to shag me," Harry whispered into Draco's mouth.

Draco's attention was fully arrested. Yes, he would like that, too. But there was one small matter to consider.

"Have you ever done it before?" he asked, his voice thick with desire.

"No," Harry blushed. "Have you?"

"No," Draco admitted. "I know how it works but I don't want to hurt you." He paused with a smirk, "Perhaps for the first time ever."

"Just go slowly," Harry said bravely. "I think you're supposed to start like this," he wiggled a finger suggestively.

Draco kissed Harry again and slipped one hand over his bollocks to his arse. He traced his finger around his entrance and smiled as Harry groaned involuntarily.

"Harry Potter is about to give his virginity to Draco Malfoy," he said teasingly as he stroked.

"And Draco Malfoy is about to," Harry moaned and was unable to finish his thought. "His virginity," he said finally.

"I'm not a virgin," Draco corrected him as he slipped one finger into the moist warm channel. "I've been with lots of girls."

"Okay," Harry was putting up a good struggle to retain the power of speech. "Your boy virginity." He arched his back in pleasure as Draco curled his finger and began to stroke. "Oh Merlin, please don't stop."

"My boy virginity," Draco mused. "Harry Pot-"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry grasped his hair roughly and brought their lips together.

Harry's annoyance was a powerful turn-on. Draco drove his tongue into his mouth and sucked greedily. He slipped a second finger in and worked gently but firmly. He was rock hard and desperate to rut but he waited for Harry's lead. Harry's arms were wrapped around him, his fingers digging into Draco's flesh with raw need. He was nodding his head like a nervous tic, beyond the capacity for words.

"Is this okay?" Draco's forehead was pressed against Harry's, his breath ragged with anticipation.

Harry nodded vehemently, his eyes intense and feverish. "Want you," he grunted with difficulty, "inside of me."

Draco needed no further invitation. He whispered a protective lubrication charm and slipped his slick palm over his throbbing cock. He pressed Harry’s knees up towards his chest, and with more restraint than he knew he possessed he carefully positioned himself and slowly pushed inside.

Harry's back arched and he whimpered, his fingers digging into Draco's arms. His body resisted the unfamiliar invasion but he breathed slowly and deeply as Draco began to move.

He slipped in and out, just a fraction of a thrust at a time. Just enough to send fireworks through his head and elicit moans of pleasure from the boy beneath him. Harry's ankles squeezed his rib cage as he tried to urge Draco in deeper with every thrust.

"More," he gasped, "faster."

Draco eagerly obeyed. He thrust with earnest, his head swimming with the rising tide of climax. Harry grasped his own shaft and pulled vigorously. His face was contorted with stupefied ecstasy and Draco wasn't sure how long he could hold out if Harry didn't come soon.

Suddenly Harry's breath caught in short pulses as the pressure bubbled over. He convulsed and cried out as a tremendous orgasm shook his body. Draco followed closely, coming hard and fast as though his very life force was being drained by way of his intense ejaculation. A harsh cry tore itself from his throat as the spasm rocked him in its wake. He gradually slowed and finally stopped thrusting as a shudder wracked him from head to toe. His face tingled with the dissipating pleasure.

"I can't feel my lips," Harry said thickly, opening his eyes and smiling up at him. "And I think I forgot all of my Arithmancy."

Draco kissed him and slipped free. As he shifted to the side and nestled down in the soft grass beside him, Harry cast a wandless cleansing charm to clear away the sticky remnants of sex. Harry wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into an embrace. Draco didn't fight it. He nestled his head on Harry's shoulder and felt more clear-headed than he had in months.

They listened to the trickle of water and the rustle of leaves and each other's heartbeats. The tickle of the breeze across their naked bodies was both decadent and soothing. Draco stroked his thumb across Harry's ribs and held him close.

"We should be getting back," Harry murmured. "Everyone else will be done by now."

"We could Apparate," Draco reluctantly sat up and looked for his clothing.

"The house is warded," Harry shook his head and slipped his legs into his underpants.

"Figures," Draco yanked his clammy sweat-stained shirt over his head. "So is this going to be the spot? We're going to have to come out here every time we get that buggery feeling?"

"Looks like it," Harry shrugged. "Unless you like the idea of the shed."

They left the riverbank behind and jogged back to the main road. A few minutes later they were back at the farmhouse and Harry showed Draco how to lift the wards and pass through the main gate. A few of their housemates were still finishing up laps so Draco figured their dalliance hadn't taken too long. They went inside and trudged up the stairs to the top floor.

"I get first dibs on the shower," Draco stopped at the bathroom door with a challenging tone.

"Fine," Harry sighed and continued on.

Draco glanced down the abandoned corridor and seized Harry by the wrist. "Get in here, you berk," he dragged him into the bathroom and latched the door.

"What are--" Harry's eyes were round with surprise.

Draco put his fingers to his lips and cranked the shower taps. When the water was hot he stripped down and beckoned Harry in after him. A grin broke out across Harry's face and he undressed quickly. He stepped into the tub and straight into Draco's arms.

It was wonderful, wet, and slippery, and Draco found himself smiling in a very un-Malfoyish way as Harry soaped him all over. They scrubbed each other's bodies and kissed ravenously between rinses. When they were clean Draco turned Harry directly beneath the spray and knelt before him, then drew his cock into his mouth. This was totally new, totally novel, and nearly blew his mind. Harry struggled to stay silent as Draco licked and sucked with enthusiasm. He grasped two handfuls of soaked blond hair and pushed into Draco's mouth like a man possessed.

It didn't take long for Draco's unaccustomed jaw to tire. He slipped Harry's shaft from his lips and stood, burying the other boy's mouth in his as he switched the job to his hand. Harry reached down and tugged back. Their breath rasped as they clung to each other's water-slicked bodies, their mouths locked in the throes of passion as they worked their way to mutual climax. Draco came half an instant before Harry, and he had to bite his lip to suppress the grateful groan that wanted desperately to be heard. Harry ducked his head against Draco's shoulder as he peaked, his wet hair slipping across Draco's cheek.

They luxuriated in the steamy water for a few more minutes, then cut the tap and climbed out. Draco wrapped a plush bath towel around Harry's arse and pulled him in until they were pressed up against each other.

"Damn you, Potter," he said softly. "How am I supposed to hate you now?"

"You're not supposed to anymore," Harry murmured, running his fingers through Draco's wet hair.

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"We'll see about that," Draco butted their noses together and released him.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry exited the bathroom first and checked to make sure no one was around. He shuffled barefoot back to his room and when the coast was clear Draco returned to his own room. Harry returned his glasses to their familiar perch on the bridge of his nose and hunted around for something clean to wear to supper. When he emerged Draco’s door was still closed, so he descended to the first floor ahead of him.

Their roommates were scattered throughout the kitchen and the sitting room on the enclosed back porch. Magnus was manning the stove, prattling on about Nordic comfort foods and stirring a large pot. Stella was kneading a lump of dough, her shirt streaked with flour. Two house elves stood nervously in the corner, watching their activity with some trepidation. Harry eyed Magnus’ work suspiciously, remembering Draco’s not so flattering depictions of his hygiene. He hoped he was a cleaner cook than flatmate.

Zane, Harris, Levi and Vaishali were standing around the kitchen island, watching Stella knead the dough. They each had a cocktail in hand, a wheat-colored potion that intoxicated without morning-after repercussions or calories. It was Harry’s favorite. He poured himself a glass and went out to the porch to join the others.

Ginny was curled up on the sofa with a magazine and a drink. Harry plopped down next to her with a content sigh. She immediately tucked her legs up and shifted the other way to lean on him, nestling under his arm like she belonged there. Harry had to admit to himself that he was a little nervous about the frequency with which she cuddled up to him. If she was clear that he wasn’t available to her, that would be okay. But if she was holding out any hopes that he would see the light of day and fall for her again, it would be bad for both of them.

He heard Draco thump down the stairs and stop off for a drink. He came out onto the porch, sat on an ottoman near the screen door, and set his glass on the coffee table, where it immediately sweated a wet ring onto the wood. He eyed Ginny and Harry’s cozy embrace and pressed his lips together disapprovingly. Harry tried to convey with his eyes that it meant nothing.

It was quiet, the kind of quiet only exhaustion can create. Franz and Antonio were sitting in recliners with their feet propped up. Ginny abandoned her magazine and let it fall to the floor with a soft flutter. The deep rumble of Magnus’ voice floated out from the kitchen as he narrated his cooking process. It was more peaceful than Harry would have expected with eleven Quidditch players in the house. Of course, true to form, Draco was compelled to fill the silence. Harry smiled the instant the blond Slytherin opened his mouth.

"So what's good for entertainment around here?" Draco asked no one in particular.

"Entertainment?" Ginny asked without lifting her head. "Who has the energy?"

Harry closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the sofa cushions. No one spoke for several minutes. Stella slapped and patted the dough as she shaped it into a loaf, then cast a rising charm to hurry it along before popping it into the oven.

"I swear you won't know the difference," she said apologetically to the other teammates.

She and Zane and Levi returned to the porch and found places to sit around the comfortably cluttered room. They looked back and forth between Franz and Draco, curious about the newcomers.

"So Draco," Stella said. "Are you one of the infamous Malfoys?"

Harry lifted his head and eyed Draco closely as he raised an eyebrow in an expression Harry knew all too well. He silently willed his former schoolmate to think carefully before answering. A short temper now could spell awkwardness later. Of course his family name was known. They were known for their wealth before the war, and they were known for their support of the Dark Lord during the war. That qualified as infamous.

"Do you know Lucius Malfoy?" Zane asked. "They sent him to Azkaban for war crimes."

Draco took a long pull from his drink before answering. "Lucius Malfoy is my father."

The room went silent. Even the roommates in the kitchen stopped talking. No one knew what to say.

"So you-know-who lived at your house?" Stella asked softly, as though talking about it too loudly would raise the dead.

"Yes."

"Did you meet him?"

"Yes."

The silence was heavy. They wanted to know more. They would want to know if he had supported Voldemort. Whether he had fought for him. Whether he had killed anyone for him. Harry didn’t think anything good could come from talking about those things.

"Reporters are going to ask you about that," Antonio spoke up in his gently rolling accent. It was the first he had spoken up since their three teammates had moved into the house.

"Do you think Tex knows? This can't be good for our image," Levi said to the group.

"Of course he knows," Ginny said. "He did a background check on all of us. He even called up my brother in Romania."

"Were you a Death Eater?" Levi asked. His mouth was pressed into a thin line. "Are you marked?"

Harry winced. Why now? Why on the first night? He wanted to say something, to redirect the conversation, to whisk Draco out of the room so he wouldn’t have to face the scrutiny. But it wasn’t his place to do so.

"I was a Death Eater, yes. I didn't have a choice." Draco paused for a moment to let the group absorb that information. "I was marked, but everyone's mark disappeared when the Dark Lord was killed." His eyes flicked to Harry, then away again. Everyone else followed his eyes.

"Oh Merlin, and Harry is the one who killed him!" Harris exclaimed. "That's why you passed the background check!" Everyone looked at him curiously. "It's a newspaper play! Mark my words, at some point his history will end up in the papers and Tex will show how he and Harry are playing on the same team now. It will be like healing the war wounds. People will eat it up!"

"Bloody brilliant," Vaishali swore.

"I don't get it," Stella said. "How can you be best friends if Draco was a Death Eater and Harry killed you-know-who?"

"We're not best friends," Harry furrowed his brow, worried Draco would think he’d been speaking out of turn. "Who told you we were?"

"You're not?" Stella exchanged a look with the other Chasers. "You act like it. You’ve been talking about him all summer. And you've been inseparable since Nigel brought him over."

"They were enemies at school," Ginny piped up, earning an elbow to the ribs which did nothing to shut her up. "Harry almost killed Malfoy. And Malfoy broke Harry's nose."

"Bygones," Draco said smoothly, although Harry easily spotted his discomfort. "At some point everyone grows up and abandons their childish ways."

"So you're friends now," Levi looked dubious.

"Is this an interrogation?" Draco was starting to sound annoyed. He shot Harry a hard look, urging him to speak up. Harry grimaced apologetically.

"We have to play as a team," Zane said. "If there's bad blood between our Seeker and our Keeper, we have to know that. And you'll have to work out your differences."

"We've worked out our differences," Harry said finally. The room quieted as soon as he spoke, and for once he had a lucid understanding that this was the sort of thing that had earned him the nickname of Saint Potter.

"So you're friends now?" Zane pressed the issue.

"I would trust him with my life," Harry said seriously, looking directly at Draco with unblinking honesty.

Magnus came to the doorway, wiping his hands on a towel. He looked over everyone's head to Franz. "Draco has been a good roommate," he said.

"I agree," Franz nodded.

"Do I get to be part of your club now?" Draco curled his lip in a sneer.

"He's a bit prickly," Harry said with a knowing smile. "But he'll grow on you,"

"Not surprising," Stella smirked. "Everyone knows Keepers are prima donnas."

"Pardon me?" Draco sat up straight, his posture outraged.

"I think the bread is about done," Stella hopped up from her chair and darted into the kitchen with a giggle. Of course the bread was nowhere near done, but she had a charm for that, too, and soon enough Magnus was ladling out bowls of stew and Stella was slicing off thick slabs of crusty fresh bread. Zane directed everyone to the enormous dining room to eat, playfully topping off their beverages from the endless carafe as they passed.

Harry hung back with Draco and was served last. Draco accepted a slice of bread from Stella and arched his eyebrow in its most demanding curve. "Who says Keepers are prima donnas?"

"No one," Stella arched her eyebrow in return. "I just thought that might get under your skin," she smirked.

Draco eyed her appraisingly. "You," he wagged his finger at her, "you and I are going to get along."

She flipped her hair as she headed into the dining room with the others. Draco turned and eyed Harry appraisingly now. Harry caressed his ear, apologizing silently for not anticipating the confrontation. Draco nodded for him to lead the way to the table.

Supper was actually nicely done. The house elves popped in and out with second servings and more intoxicating potion. Harry’s head was swimming by the time the dishes were cleared. He was flanked by Ginny and Levi, across the table from Draco, Stella, and, to Draco’s obvious dismay, Franz. Because apparently he was destined to share his personal space with at least one Beater at all times.

"So who else here knew each other before making the team," Harris called out from the end of the table. "Harry and Draco, obviously."

"I went to school with them, too," Ginny piped up. Her cheeks were inflamed with drink in a rather indelicate way.

"Any dirty secrets about them that you could share?" Zane leaned forward expectantly.

"No," Ginny shook her head and grinned. "They always hated each other."

"I still don't understand how you go from hating each other to friends," Vaishali said.

"It's long and complicated," Harry waved her question away. He was as inebriated as everyone else and the lovely buzzing in his head made storytelling sound like much less fun than listening. "Short story is, the war changed everything."

"That's a cop-out," Harris complained.

"You know what it is?" Draco was clearly pissed and his tongue had loosened up. "There's not that much difference between being enemies and being friends. Either way you're connected. And when you no longer have a reason to hate each other, there's no point in being enemies anymore. That's why it makes sense when he says the war changed everything. Because it did." 

Harry smiled across the table at him. He was pleased that Draco understood. No, he loved that Draco understood. Oh bollocks, he’d better watch himself. Drink had a way of making him gush and confess his love for everyone around him.

"That makes absolutely no sense. When you're not enemies anymore you have to be friends? Can't you just go your separate ways?" Levi looked dubious. Harry could tell the skeptical Chaser didn't trust Draco and didn't want to like him.

"No," Draco shook his head. Everyone looked to Harry for his answer.

"No," he concurred.

"So what do you do then?" Levi was annoyed. "Just shake hands and say, let's kiss and make up?"

"In that order? Yes!" Draco giggled in a very uncharacteristic way. Harry blushed.

"I don't get it," Levi looked away grumpily.

"So you three knew each other," Harris moved the conversation back on topic. "Magnus and Franz, you knew each other, right?"

"We played on the same team at Durmstrang," Magnus nodded.

"Are you friends?"

"Sure," Franz shrugged. "We've never talked much off of the pitch but we get along."

"We were told the only way we could make the team is if we both signed," Magnus added. "Tex and Nigel wanted us as a pair or not at all."

"Interesting," Harris steepled his fingers. "Anyone else?"

"Zane and I have played against each other," Vaishali said. "We were both on community teams in Leeds."

"You don't sound like you're from Leeds," Levi frowned.

"I'm not," Vaishali and Zane said in unison.

"Sounds fishy," Draco leaned over and whispered conspiratorially. "You should probably investigate."

A few chuckles scattered around the table as his roommates caught his mocking tone. They had all learned to anticipate the suspicious man’s skepticism. Levi scowled and leaned away.

"Do we really have to be up for swimming at five thirty?" Franz changed the subject.

"Every day," Ginny nodded. She draped her arm around Harry's shoulder.

"I'm not a strong swimmer," Franz's brow furrowed.

"You'll learn fast," Antonio said, speaking for the first time since they sat down. "I could hardly swim when we got here."

"I'm not good in the morning," Franz added.

"Then you'll learn faster," Stella smiled. "Thirty laps will teach you in no time."

“Speaking of which,” Zane stood and bowed to the room. “I am off to bed.”

“It’s early,” Magnus said.

“This isn’t early,” Zane said knowingly. “Five thirty is early.”

Everyone grudgingly agreed and rose from their seats. The house elves moved in right away to clean up as they clomped up the stairs in a line, some stopping at the second floor, some continuing on to the third. Ginny held Harry back as Draco went on ahead. He was going to have to find a way to gently explain that she was dominating his attention too much.

“That was mad, wasn’t it?” she asked. “They jumped all over Malfoy like they could smell the Dark Mark on him.”

“I wish they hadn’t,” Harry said. “He doesn’t deserve it. He’s made amends, and he shouldn’t be held responsible for what his father did, just because they share a name.”

“Maybe so,” Ginny frowned. “But he’s still an arsehole, no matter what.”

Harry murmured noncommittally and continued up the stairs. She followed closely behind as they passed Levi and Antonio’s rooms, then went quietly to her own room. Harry continued to the end of the hall and sighed regretfully at Draco’s closed door. He hadn’t done a good job defending him to the others. He didn’t think he had a right to seek out Draco’s company tonight. He sagged as he went into his own room and stripped down to his pants for bed. After such an intense day with his former rival, it felt like the evening was drawing to a close with a disappointing fizzle.

He was lying on his back, eyelids fluttering and drifting off to sleep when a rap came at his door. “Alohomora,” he called sleepily as he sat up and donned his glasses. The door swung open and Draco darted inside. Harry smiled in wonder, “What are you doing here?”

“Do you do any spells with your wand anymore?” Draco scowled as though he disapproved. He slipped into bed beside Harry without asking.

“Not the simple ones,” Harry scooted over to give him room. The bed springs squeaked loudly, quelling any ideas of fooling around in here.

“Were you asleep already?” Draco asked, hesitating before settling down on the pillow.

“Sort of,” Harry removed his glasses again and handed them to Draco to set on the bedside table. It was a small gesture, but Draco looked up at him in surprise, as though he had been entrusted with Harry’s life. Harry’s heart squeezed.

“I couldn’t relax,” Draco set his glasses down and nestled into the pillow. "My head is all jumbled."

Harry leaned over to kiss him gently. At the touch of Draco’s lips an intense warmth spread through his chest and radiated to his fingers and toes. It wasn’t the urgent kiss of foreplay, it was quiet, intimate, and caring. Harry stroked his hair and held him closely, and Draco hesitantly raised his hand to touch Harry’s hair in return. It wasn’t about sex. It was a continuation of the kiss Harry had offered at the Three Broomsticks. Draco kissed him back with nervous tenderness. He was scared of this feeling; and Harry could feel the fear in his body as though it were tangible. Caring for Draco didn’t frighten Harry at all. He wished Draco shared his confidence.

He shifted until he was lying on top of Draco, both hands tangled in his hair. Draco ran his fingers up and down Harry’s spine as they kissed, his cock perking up bit by bit as the kissing intensified. Harry reached down and caught Draco’s arms, then pushed them up over his head. He held his wrists for just a moment, then trailed his fingers down to his chest. Goosebumps scattered everywhere, and Draco let out a tiny moan.

“Shh,” Harry released his mouth long enough to hush him with a smile. He was smug, proud of himself for coaxing an uncontrolled response from the other man.

Draco pulled his mouth in again, his fingers feathering through Harry’s hair and stroking the sandpapery stubble along his jaw. Harry wondered if Draco would have friction burn on his cheeks in the morning. Then he slipped his hand down Harry’s y-fronts and firmly grasped his cock, driving every other thought out of his head.

“Harry?” a flurry of taps at the door drove them apart. The door handle turned and before the visitor could enter Draco did the only thing he could: he threw the quilt over his head and froze.

“Ginny!” Harry gasped as the ginger girl slipped into the room and closed the door behind her. Draco laid still as though he thought that would help conceal the outline of his body beneath the coverlet.

“Who is that?” her eyes widened in surprise.

“Nobody,” Harry said stupidly. Of course it was somebody.

“Harry,” she said sternly. “That is clearly not nobody. Who is in your bed?”

“Can you come back later?” Harry pleaded, his voice weak.

“Come on.”

"Ginny, please don't."  
“Just tell me.”

“Can’t you take a hint?” Draco called from beneath the blanket. Harry groaned in dismay.

“Who is that?” Ginny sounded shocked now. “Is that Malfoy?”

Draco pushed the quilt aside and sat up. “I thought your brother was a nosy git, but you’re clearly worse than he is.”

“Are you sleeping with Draco Malfoy?” Ginny ignored him and gawked at Harry.

“Not right at the moment, thanks to you,” Draco snapped.

“Harry, you can't," she shook her head in denial.

"Why can't he?" Draco demanded. "He's an adult, he can choose for himself."

"I should have known," she hissed through clenched teeth. "I should have guessed when you made that bloody stupid comment downstairs about trusting him with your life. I thought you were being dramatic to smooth things over." She slapped herself on the forehead like an admonishment. "But really you were defending your boyfriend."

"He's not--"

"Let's not rush things--"

"So he's not your boyfriend," Ginny folded her arms across her chest.

"It's only been one day," Draco said. A small portion of Harry’s brain couldn’t help being amused by the way Draco was compelled to answer, even though none of her comments were directed at him.

"Well," Harry snapped back to the present. He cocked his head at Draco, "plus eight years."

"Yeah but that's actually a point in favor of her outrage because we weren't friends for most of those eight years," Draco pointed out.

“True,” Harry conceded.

"Listen to yourselves!" Ginny grabbed two handfuls of her hair like she was going mad. "Talking about it like it's academic!"

"It is, sort of," Harry said weakly. "I know you’re upset but you shouldn’t be. If you knew him the way I do--."

"I don't have to," she said. "I know him well enough."

Harry sighed and shrugged in defeat. There would be no convincing her. She didn’t know him. She hadn’t forgiven him. She hadn’t seen what Harry had seen during the darkest days of the war. She hadn’t seen his agony in the Astronomy tower the night Professor Dumbledore passed. She hadn’t looked him in the eyes and seen his pain the way Harry had, just before nearly slicing him in two with that ill-gotten Sectumsempra. She hadn’t seen his refusal to identify Harry to the Death Eaters, saving Harry’s life while risking his own.

She hadn’t seen any of that and he couldn’t expect her to understand otherwise. He wasn’t sure anyone could understand. But Draco understood, and that was all that mattered. He slipped his hand beneath the coverlet and grasped Draco’s hand in his to show that he would stand by him.

"I know I don't have a right to tell you who to date," Ginny was saying. "But I'm not going to pretend I understand this. And I'm not going to pretend I like it."

"I know," Harry said softly. "Just don't ask me to choose between you." He looked at Draco, "You either."

For once Draco seemed to realize that now was not the time for a smart retort. He nodded soberly.

"What did you come in here for?" Harry asked Ginny.

"It seems silly now," her cheeks flushed.

"What is it?"

"I was just going to gossip about Vaishali and Zane," she waved her hand dismissively. "Really not important."

"Oh they've definitely shagged at some point," Draco said. "You can just tell."

"That's what I thought, too," Ginny's eyes finally flicked his direction and then away again.

"Merlin," Harry flopped back onto his pillow. "Five thirty is going to be painful. Doesn't anyone other than me want to sleep?"

"Sorry," Ginny popped the door open at her back. "I won't say anything, I promise."

"Thank you," Harry smiled. He waved as she slipped out. "Good night."

"Fuck," Draco laid back with his hands over his face as she pulled the door shut behind her. "Well that went smashingly."

"I suppose It had to happen sometime," Harry said with a yawn.

He rolled Draco over onto his side and scooted close to spoon him from behind. He draped his arm across Draco's waist. Without hesitation Draco clasped their hands together.

"I would have preferred if it hadn’t happened on the very same day that my life went all sixes and sevens," Draco murmured.

Harry nuzzled into the hair at the nape of his neck and dropped a kiss onto his shoulder. "Stop thinking so much and go to sleep."


	11. Chapter 11

Five thirty arrived like a thunderclap. One minute Draco was dreaming pleasantly of accepting an award and the next a ringing bell was clattering him awake.

"Bloody hell, help!" He clapped his hands over his ears and bumped into another body in the bed. An arm slashed across his field of vision and the ringing ceased.

"Good morning," Harry's voice was gravelly and exhausted.

Oh right. The previous day's events came flooding back. He had kissed Harry. He had shagged Harry. He had sucked Harry. He had gone to bed with Harry. His first instinct was to panic. What was he doing? What was he doing with Potter? Had he gone mad?

"How long will it take before you stop tensing up every time you’re with me?" Harry propped himself up on his elbow and caressed Draco's cheek with his thumb.

"How can you tell?" Draco fought not to tremble beneath Harry's intimate touch.

"Your eyes give you away," Harry smiled gently. "Every time."

"I can't help it," Draco looked away. "You make me feel," he paused, searching for the right word, "weak."

"Surely not weak," Harry frowned. "Vulnerable, maybe. But you've never been weak a day in your life."

"It feels like I've surrendered," Draco tried again.

"You haven't gotten out of the habit of feeling like we should fight," Harry scooted to the end of the bed and went to the chest of drawers. "Hopefully that will pass at some point."

"What exactly am I supposed to wear in the pool?" Draco demanded as Harry slipped a pair of Speedos over his arse.

"You should have something in your room," Harry said. "Mine were in this drawer when I got here."

Draco grumbled his way across the deserted hall and checked his chest of drawers. Sure enough there was a swimsuit waiting for him in there. He slipped it on and emerged again with just a hint of self consciousness. He stopped in the loo to relieve himself and inspected his appearance in the mirror. He was pretty pleased with his physique, he just wasn't sure he wanted it all on display. He looked like he was smuggling a Remembrall.

He scowled and made his way downstairs with a towel slung over his shoulder. He was the fifth one in the pool. Harry and Ginny were in lanes one and two, Zane and Vaishali were in lanes three and four. Magnus showed up a moment after Draco. True to his word, Franz showed up last and sat miserably on a chaise lounge while the others finished.

After twenty laps and a dash upstairs to change they all reconvened at the equipment shed and found their brooms. Draco noted appreciatively that they were all top of the line, brand new, and etched with their names. He hopped onto his and took off like a shot, overwhelmingly relieved to be back up in the air after more than two months of hiatus.

He circled the practice pitch at top speed, urging his new broom to its maximum. Since the others were still assembling he dove into a hairpin turn and blasted off towards the distant foothills. He heard a shout behind him but didn't slow. It had been a tumultuous twenty-four hours and he needed to clear his head. Grass and brush whipped by beneath him as he kept tight control of his trajectory. When the stone wall at the edge of the wooded foothills rose up before him he pulled hard into another turn and rocketed back towards the pitch.

The tiny goals grew larger as he approached at breakneck speed. He could see his teammates gathered together near the hoops, hands held aloft to shield their eyes from the morning glare. He grinned to himself and careened past them without stopping. He heard a snippet of a whoop and a cheer as he passed, but was out of range, over the rooftop, and closing in on the road in an instant. Another pivot and he was heading back towards the pitch. He hauled up hard on the handle as he neared the goals and spun to a stop right in front of the Keeper's position.

"What are you lot doing?" he shouted commandingly. "Are we going to play Quidditch or not?"

The seven chasers stared at him like he was mad. He let go of his broom handle and threw his arms out wide. "Come at me!" he yelled.

They let him have it. Suddenly there were Quaffles everywhere. He deflected and caught as many as he could, and got walloped in the head a few more times than he liked.

A sharp whistle pierced the air and the barrage ceased. Nigel was sailing up to meet them on his own broom with a dour expression on his face.

"Huddle up!" he called. Draco joined the seven Chasers in a semicircle around the coach. "Four on four, Keeper defends," he said. He sent Draco back to the goal with Zane, Antonio and Stella. Ginny, Harris, Vaishali and Levi faced them as opponents.

The Chasers were fast. They had clearly spent their summer working on offense and defense and had some coordinated strategic maneuvers at their disposal. Draco was alert and fielded anything that made it past his three teammates. He had never played a real game as Keeper; this was the closest he'd ever gotten. It was intense, and he realized quickly why he'd spent two months building his core muscles. The acrobatic demands on his body were exhausting and straining, and he knew he would be sore later.

Ginny was especially hard on him. Every time he turned around she was aiming a Quaffle directly at his face. Not a hoop, his face. At first he thought it was poor aim. But after the third time he knew she was intentionally aiming at him.

"Piss off, Weasley!" he shouted as another ball glanced off of his shoulder. "Get your head on straight!"

"You're the Keeper, Malfoy!" she yelled back. "If you can't handle it, step down!"

"Ginny," Harris reached out to stop her as she hurled the Quaffle at Draco's face again. "Are you trying to foul out?"

She whirled around and yanked her arm out of his grasp. "Get off of me," she snapped.

Nigel's whistle pierced the air as he sailed over to investigate. He pointed sharply at Ginny and then at the ground. She cursed and descended quickly. Draco saw Tex sitting on the back patio, and as Ginny landed he waved her over. He hoped she would be true to her word and wouldn't tell him about last night's intrusion.

He turned and located Harry by the other goal hoops. He was watching her carefully, too. They exchanged a glance across the pitch and then returned to their exercises.

"Draco, on the ground," Nigel called after several minutes of intense volley. "Go see Tex about the image consultant. Chasers, you're with me. We'll run some offense formations."

Draco descended gratefully. He was exhausted from the barrage of Quaffles and needed a break. He stowed his broom and headed for the patio as Ginny ascended to rejoin her teammates.

"Have a seat, Blondie," Tex indicated the vacated wicker chair.

"Do you have to call me that, sir?" Draco winced as he flopped down onto the cushion.

"Don't have to," the man eyed him appraisingly. "But I want to."

"For the record, I'm not a fan." A house elf appeared at Draco's elbow with a large glass of water, which he accepted gracefully.

"Draco, let me ask you something," Tex's twangy accent evaporated, as it had during their last private meeting. "Would you have signed with us if Harry Potter had passed on our offer?"

"I don't know, sir," Draco replied.

"I'll bet you have an idea," Tex squinted at the distant goal hoops where Harry was dodging Bludgers.

"Probably not," Draco admitted. "Not Keeper, anyway. Maybe Seeker."

"And why's that?" Tex asked.

"Because he was offered a Seeker position on another team," Draco said. "I’ve always enjoyed playing against him."

Tex nodded as though he had come to that conclusion already. "And why do you think he took this contract over the other one?" he asked. "The Catapults offered him three years. We offered ya'll one."

"I don't know," Draco shook his head. He was suspicious of the man's casual tone.

"You know what I think? I think it was because of you," Tex said with a nod. "He weighed three years with the Catapults, a top-notch established team, against a year with you. He didn't know for sure you'd get an offer, but he took a chance. He didn't choose the team, he chose you."

Draco's stomach was tense. What did any of this matter? Why had he thought about this at all? How was it important to anything? What had Ginny said to him?

"I know you Brits don't think much of us Yankee wizards," Tex's accent returned to full strength. "Ya'll think we're just barely a step above your muggles." He eyed Draco sharply, "I know how ya'll value blood purity."

"Not any more, sir," Draco said flatly. "Not since the war."

"Oh I know how it goes," Tex peered off across the garden. "Your folks were ideologues, and you got an earful growing up. I talked to your mama before you got here. Got a lecture on purity without even asking. I'll bet you got a lot of that when you were a tyke."

"Yes sir," Draco set his glass down and leaned on his elbow. He was very curious to know where Tex was going with this.

"I'm a civilian born wizard myself," Tex said. "One of five kids, never had enough to go around when I was growing up. Tested into the wizarding academy when I was eleven. Had some natural talents, you could say." He eyed Draco again. "You wanna take a guess at my particular area of specialty?"

"I wouldn't know, sir," Draco was getting annoyed.

"Oh come on, you can figure it out. Poor kid becomes a wealthy investor. What do you think?"

"Divination," Draco guessed.

"You got it," Tex smiled. "I can smell a deal a mile away. I can sense when it's gonna go belly up. Makes me a wise investor. And it's made me rich enough to make even your mama think twice about us mudbloods."

"So?" Draco snapped. "What's your point?"

"My point is," Tex dropped the accent again. "There's something about you and Specs that's got me a bit confounded."

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"There's something between you," Tex shook his head. "Something I can't quite hone in on. I can see significance, but not whether it's in a good way or a bad way."

"Significance in Quidditch?" Draco didn't like divination. It always made his hair stand on end.

"I don't know," Tex gazed at him with hooded eyes. "It might just be personal. But it overlays every reading I've done on you."

"So why take a risk? If it might be bad, why sign us at all? Maybe we're going to cost you the League Cup or something," Draco said.

"Because you're skilled players. And because nothing in life is certain," Tex smiled. "Not even that which can be divined. Besides," his accent returned swiftly, "what fun is life without a gamble every now and then?"

Draco thought he sounded quite mad. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and peered at Tex. "What if I told you I might know what it is, but that you probably wouldn't like it?"

Tex gazed at him silently again and Draco worried that he was a Legilimens. If news of his and Harry's involvement was going to get out, he wanted to be the source. He didn't want it pried from his brain without his consent.

"Son," Tex said finally. "It ain't my business to tell anyone how to live their lives." He shook his head, "I just have a tendency to be a bit, how you say, risk averse. Even when I gamble."

Draco said nothing. He wasn't ready to share. Certainly not without discussing it with Harry first. He'd only just gotten the chance to touch him after years of yearning, and he didn't intend to drive him away this soon.

"Well," Tex seemed to understand. "Just do me a favor and if anything happens that you think might land you in the paper, you let me know first so I can manage it. That’s why I’m here.” He stood and slapped Draco on the shoulder, “Let’s go see if that dang hairdresser is set up yet. Guy’s slower’n snot.”

Draco found his colorful description repulsive. He imagined what the meeting between Tex and his mother had been like. He wished he could have been there to see the look of horror on her face.


	12. Chapter 12

Draco had gained a lot of experience with the weight machines so he spotted Harry as he lifted for the first time in his life. Harry quite enjoyed lying beneath the blond boy as he watched him sweat and strain to heave the weights over his head. Knowing Draco’s role as a spotter was to keep him safe and help if needed made him feel protected and cared for. And of course it was a total turn-on.

Unfortunately, they only had a precious few minutes alone before their roommates started trickling in, and Harry resigned himself to the realization that private time would be rare during the day.

“Well look at you,” Harris nodded approvingly as he, Antonio and Stella entered the weight room. “That stylist really knows his stuff.”

“Looking quite raw there, Harry,” Stella shimmied her hips saucily. “You, too, Draco.”

Draco winced and self-consciously touched his hair. He’d been given a short, choppy fauxhawk but he wasn’t familiar enough with muggle fashion to know whether it looked okay. Harry’s reassurances had done nothing to convince him that it was sexy. Harry, on the other hand, loved the messy, spiky look the stylist had given him. It was the first time in his life when he felt he could definitively say that he had a good haircut. She had even resized, cleaned, and straightened his glasses so that they fit more flatteringly. She had refused to change the shape, calling his round frames, “too iconic.”

“Are you done with that machine, Harry?” Antonio asked. Harry quickly wiped down the bench and yielded to his soft-spoken Italian teammate.

“We’re done here anyway,” Draco said and nodded for Harry to follow him up the stairs. They passed Franz and Levi in the stairwell on the way up.

Without asking Harry followed Draco into his bedroom and collapsed with him onto the bed. They were too worn out to do more than hold each other, which Harry found comforting but exceedingly disappointing. They let themselves nap for twenty minutes, then changed and went downstairs for their run. Without discussing it they went straight to the road at the end of the property and jogged to the riverbank they had visited the day before.

“I’m beat,” Draco flopped down onto the soft grass along the bank of the river. Harry flopped down next to him with an exhausted groan.

“It’s going to be like this every day from now on,” Harry said. He slipped an arm under Draco’s shirt and ran his fingers in lazy circles across his chest.

“It can’t be normal,” Draco said. “Do other teams train like this?”

“They must,” Harry said hopefully. “Surely they must.”

They laid quietly with each other, listening to the trickle of the river and the rustle of the leaves on the trees. Gradually their hands began exploring, and then their mouths, and then in slow, languid movements they undressed and savored each other’s skin. They made love slowly, too exhausted and sore for the vigor of the previous day. Harry laid on top of Draco and pushed their erections together, letting their cocks slide enticingly across each other. Their hands stroked and their tongues explored, their breath pulling in unison as the heat grew slowly between them. They grasped each other’s shafts and pulled as they kissed, bringing each other to the brink of climax and then tumbling over the edge just a moment apart. Their cum mingled so that it was impossible to know who made which mess, until Harry cleared it all away with his wandless charm.

They rolled back onto the grass and gazed up at the sky through the leaves. Harry lifted Draco’s hand and threaded their fingers together. He raised Draco’s knuckles to his lips and sighed with contentment.

“Do you still feel weak?” he asked, his heart lifting hopefully as Draco squeezed his hand in return.

“Not right now,” Draco said softly. “Give me time. I’ll get better at this.”

They eventually decided it was time to dress and head back, which they did at a relaxed pace. They arrived as the House Elves were finishing supper preparations and joined their teammates on the back porch to wait for the call to the dining room. No one spoke. All eleven of them were exhausted beyond speech. A snore from one of the recliners told them Magnus had fallen asleep. They roused him when it was time to eat, and then dragged themselves single-file to the table.

Supper was quiet, and when they were done everyone headed upstairs to their rooms. Draco waited just long enough for the last bedroom door to close, then came across the hall to climb into Harry’s bed. They didn’t even bid each other goodnight, they simply fell asleep.

And so it went for three weeks, hours of swimming and practice and weight training and running, with brief meals to break up the day. Harry and Draco made use of the privacy of the riverbank whenever they had enough energy, but there were plenty of days when the most contact they had was when they were asleep in Harry’s bed.

It was getting more difficult to keep their relationship under wraps. Ginny’s coldness towards Draco made the housemates gossip. And Harry and Draco’s growing comfort with each other combined with the ever-present mental and bodily fatigue meant a slip-up was probably inevitable. They discussed the likelihood of exposing themselves and decided they would deal with it if and when it happened. There was simply no use fretting about it. Not when they lacked the spare energy to fret about anything at all. So when the slip-up happened, neither one of them was surprised, and neither one could summon the good sense to fear their roommates’ reactions.

It happened quite simply. They had just returned from their run, still thrumming with pleasure from their riverside sojourn. Harry felt quite relaxed, having come twice before they were done. They had reconvened in the shower for more snogging and then descended the stairs to rejoin their teammates on the porch. Every day, the same routine. Except on this day Draco flopped down on the sofa and Harry flopped down next to him, and without a second thought he laid his head in Draco’s lap. And without his own second thought, Draco closed his eyes and absentmindedly stroked his fingers through Harry’s hair.

So common was the silence of exhaustion by this time of day that it took them a moment to recognize the different sort of silence spreading through the room.

“Bollocks,” Harris cursed.

Harry’s eyes flew open as he realized what he had done. Draco snatched his hand away as though he could take back the show of affection. Their roommates all stared.

“I can explain,” Harry said, holding his hands up appeasingly.

“Pay up,” Zane held his hand out to Harris. Harris dug into his pocket and found a five Galleon coin, which he slapped resentfully into his teammate’s hand. Slowly their other roommates exchanged coins, some smugly, some with chagrin.

“We’ve had a betting pool going since your first day,” Stella leaned in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “You made us wait nearly a month.”

“You’ve known the whole time?” Draco demanded. “Why didn’t someone say something so we could stop creeping around?”

“We didn’t know for sure,” Zane said. “Hence the betting pool.”

“This had better not get in the way of your playing,” Levi’s tone was hostile.

“Has it yet?” Harry asked.

“You have to tell Tex,” Vaishali said. “If we could tell, the press will be able to tell.”

“Ginny knew, right?” Antonio spoke up. “I’ve got a fiver resting on that one.”

Everyone turned and looked at Ginny. She sneered from the bench at the end of the room. “I knew,” she said. “I don’t like it, but I knew about it.”

More money changed hands.

“Why don’t you like it?” Stella asked. “Is it because you like Harry or because you don’t like Draco?”

Harry watched her carefully. He knew the latter was true, but he hadn’t yet decided if he believed the former.

“Both, I guess,” Ginny said. “I’ve known about Harry’s preferences for a long time. But I always kind of figured...”

“Oh honey,” Stella sat next to her and put her arm around her shoulder. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“I’m a much better person than Draco Malfoy,” Ginny glared across the room at him. “So to have that hope, and then to find out he chose that prat over me, it’s maddening.”

“I’m sorry, Ginny,” Harry said softly. “I didn’t mean to give you hope. If it helps, I didn’t choose him over you. He’s always sort of been the one,” He took Draco’s hand in his and squeezed it. Ginny looked away. Stella hugged her closely.

“When Tex gets here tomorrow, you have to tell him,” Levi said. “You can’t have reporters figuring this out on their own. We can’t have a scandal before we’ve even had a game.”

“Scandal is a bit harsh,” Harris said. “But it would definitely make headlines.”

“We’ll tell him tomorrow,” Harry said.

“Says you,” Draco shot back. “I’m not ready to make my personal life public knowledge.”

“You have to tell him,” Antonio said. “That doesn’t mean he’ll run to the Daily Prophet with it. But he needs to figure out how to plan for it if it does get out.”

“Bollocks,” Draco rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "I haven't even told my mother."

"You should consider that, too," Stella said. "Unless you want her to hear it through the paper."

They adjourned to the dining room for supper and for the first time since their arrival Harry and Draco sat together. Their teammates watched them, looking for some change, something to make their relationship more visible and concrete. Harry could sense Draco’s annoyance rising under the scrutiny of the group. And not the good kind of annoyance that made him crawl all over Harry with devilish intentions.

After supper they went upstairs and didn’t bother waiting for everyone to settle for the night. Draco followed Harry to his room, no longer burdened by the necessity of sneaking around. The bed springs were still a problem, because even though everyone knew now, that didn’t mean they wanted to overhear shagging through the walls and floor. So they laid quietly as they always did, some snogging and a quick, tidy yank that didn’t jostle too much before finally closing their eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

The next day was business as usual until Tex arrived. They swam, they practiced, they lifted weights. Sometime in the afternoon they saw the heavyset Yank show up, as resplendent as ever in his cowboy hat, snakeskin boots, and oversized belt buckle. They asked him if he had a moment to chat, and of course he did.

“I take it you boys are ready to tell me what’s going on,” Tex settled into a recliner on the back porch. Harry and Draco shared the loveseat. It took all of Draco’s self control not to call it off and march back outside without revealing their news.

“Yes sir,” Harry was visibly nervous. “We thought you should know because everyone else on the team found out yesterday. And we want to make sure you know about it so if word got out you could manage it in a way that reflects well on the team.”

“Cut to the chase,” Tex waved him along.

“Draco and I are more than friends,” Harry said bluntly. He reached over and grasped Draco’s hand in his.

“I suspected as much,” Tex nodded, his expression neutral.

“Why is everyone so unsurprised? Why didn’t you just come out and say it?” Draco demanded. “What about your confusing Divination?”

“I couldn’t be sure,” Tex shrugged. “It was a whole lot of guesswork without you confirming it.”

Harry and Draco stared at him, not sure what else to say. They had braced themselves for a hard conversation but the man hardly seemed ruffled.

“Well I’m glad we had this little chat,” Draco curled his lip in annoyance. “Well worth everyone’s time.” He stood to leave.

“Now hang on a minute,” Tex leaned forward in his chair. “You ain’t even gonna give me a chance to do a reading?”

“What kind of reading?” Draco was wary.

“If ya’ll are in a relationship, I might could get a clearer picture if I read you both together,” Tex stood and went into the kitchen. He pilfered around in the pantry and eventually returned with an armful of supplies. “It ain’t chicken bones and blood but it’ll have to do.”

“Disgusting,” Draco wrinkled his nose.

“You may not like it, but that’s the kind of voodoo I was raised on in the Louisiana bayou,” Tex muttered as he sorted through the pile of herbs.

“I thought you were from Texas,” Harry said.

“Nah,” Tex carefully poured a ring of salt on the cocktail table. “Born and raised on the Atchafalaya Basin in Louisiana.”

“If you’re not from Texas, why do you tell people to call you Tex?” Harry asked.

“Because I don’t want to be called Louie,” Tex looked up with a cheeky grin.

Draco groaned, “How long have you been waiting to use that one?”

“Months, son,” Tex chuckled. He shook a few handfuls of herbs into the center of the salt ring. "Joke's funnier if you're from Maryland."

“Right," Draco rolled his eyes.

"Besides, ya'll love a good old Texas cowboy over here," he spread the dried leaves around a bit. "Can't blame me for using that to my advantage."

He closed his eyes and held his wand over the mess. A stir of wind swirled above the table and scattered most of the leaves without disturbing the salt. Tex frowned and peered at the remaining pattern. Draco felt something prickle up the back of his neck. Harry shifted next to him and rubbed his neck as though he could feel it, too. Draco didn't have much respect for Divination as a form of magic but there was clearly something powerful at play here.

Tex sat back, then raised his wand and flicked it, and instantly the table was cleared. He returned to his recliner and gazed at them with hooded eyes for several minutes. Finally he shook his head and snapped out of it.

"Hell," he grunted. "I'm gonna stick."

"What did you see?" Harry asked.

"Divination isn't a clean art," Tex's accent faded again. "I see possibilities. There are always good and bad possibilities. I see more good here, but no path is simple and easy." His eyes flicked to Draco, "A lot of it is going to depend on you."

"No pressure," Draco said grimly.

"Tell you what," Tex stood to indicate that their meeting was over. "We need to get Specs and Red broken up. We don't have to tell the papers about you two, but if it leaks while you're still involved with that girl, you're as good as toast in the public eye." He cocked his head and thought carefully. "Might could work to your advantage in the meantime. Women think you're single and available now, they might like you even more."

"You get women, I get teen girls," Draco muttered to Harry.

"Just do me one favor," Tex added. "Don't let anything leak until after we get approval to join the league. We've got the season fundraiser to get through next week, and then two exhibition games. And then hopefully we're in and on the schedule."

"We'll do our best," Harry promised.

Tex walked out to the back patio and left Draco and Harry to mull in silence. Draco didn't know how seriously to take the man. He had felt the presence of magic, knew his skills must be strong if he had made a success of himself the way he claimed. But it was so hard to reconcile that knowledge with the ridiculous caricature he pretended to be.

Suddenly Draco rolled on top of Harry and pinned him to the sofa. "Now y'all keep keep it quiet 'till we can get on the schedule," he twanged in a terrible imitation of Tex's accent. "Schedule," he repeated with a hard consonant. "Do they even listen to the way they talk?"

"Get off of me," Harry laughed, pushing ineffectively at Draco's chest. But Draco had leverage, an inch of height and several pounds of muscle on him.

"Never," he dropped his voice sensually. "I'm here to stay." He swept Harry's mouth up in a kiss and ran his hands down his body.

"Get up," Harry grunted, his voice taking on an annoyed tone. Draco loved it when he was annoyed.

"I don't think I can," he gasped. "I think we're stuck like this forever!"

"Piss off, Draco," Harry scowled and pushed harder.

Draco relented in surprise and let Harry sit up. "What did you just call me?"

"I don't know," Harry was still irritable. "Malfoy?"

"You called me Draco," he said. "Where do you get off being so familiar?" He sniffed haughtily, "If anything you ought to be calling me sir."

Harry was baffled. "You are a complete and total nutter. You know that, right?"

"Oh like you'd have it any other way, Harry," he emphasized Harry's name dramatically. The truth was, hearing his name from Harry's lips had given him an unexpected thrill. And he very much wanted to return the thrill. He wanted the soft sound of Harry's name to fill his mouth. But there had never seemed like a good time to cross that final frontier until now.

A smile spread across Harry's face. "You are so full of yourself, Draco."

"Justifiably so, Harry," Draco slowly pressed Harry back against the cushions again. They kissed deeply, their tongues moving in concert, their arms curled around each other. They kissed without fear of being caught, without shame. Draco marveled at how easy it was to be fearless when he wasn't hiding anymore.

The back door swung open and the porch filled with Chasers and Beaters. Their teammates groaned and shouted at them to take it upstairs. Draco rolled off of Harry and shouted back in mock outrage. Fortunately the others seemed to get his distinctive sense of humor. It was another revelation, Draco thought. It was almost like friendship, a kind of friendship he had never enjoyed in Slytherin house. No manipulation, no opportunistic power grabs, no thinly veiled barbs. He could joke around and they would joke back without looking for a way to destroy him. What a novel idea.


	14. Chapter 14

“Oh Merlin,” Vaishali said from the end of the dining table. She was the first to speak, as everyone else shoved lunch into their mouths like they were starving. She was reading the Daily Prophet and gawked at something printed within its pages. Harry’s hackles were immediately raised. He’d been in the paper so many times in his life that he automatically assumed anything comment worthy was about him.

“What is it?” Harris hooked his finger over the edge of the page and craned his neck. “Oh no!” his eyes bugged out and he laughed uproariously.

“Let me see,” Levi leaned over, scowling at the idea of being left out.

“You have to show everyone,” Magnus said from the other end of the table, ever the voice of fairness.

Vaishali folded the paper over and turned it so everyone could see. There, covering the entire top-half of the page, was a photo of Draco Malfoy, shirtless and brandishing a broom and a Quaffle, glowering sexily at the camera.

“What the fuck?” Draco dropped his fork.

Harry burst out laughing, and a moment later everyone else did, too. Draco’s face flushed with humiliation as the photo cocked its head and angled its shoulders. His strong arms and chest were fully on display, and his stylized fauxhawk looked just the right amount of roguish. Draco looked as though he could melt into a puddle and slide out of his chair.

“What does it say?” Harry asked, tossing his arm around Draco’s shoulder and squeezing him sympathetically.

“It’s an article about the team, mostly,” Vaishali refused to lower the page, keeping it up for everyone’s enjoyment. “It’s about Tex and the League trying to negotiate our entry. It has all of our names in here. Under the picture it says, ‘Draco Malfoy, notorious Death Eater and star Keeper.”

“Death Eater?” Draco scoffed, his eyes averted. “Only by a technicality.”

“It’s not like it was a secret, Draco,” Zane said. “If anything they’re salvaging your reputation.”

“Smashing,” Draco said bitterly. “The photographer told me it would be tasteful.”

“Can I get an autograph?” Vaishali held the paper out eagerly, her eyes glittering with barely contained laughter.

“Did you tease Harry and Ginny when it was their turn?” Draco demanded. Across the table Ginny was trying not to smirk. She eyed Harry with delight over his boyfriend’s embarrassment.

“Well it wasn’t a beefcake photo like that,” Zane pointed out.

“Look at how dark and smoldering you are,” Stella tweaked his chin.

“Fucking hell,” Draco buried his face in his hands.

“I’ll bet you’re feeling pretty smug right now, Harry,” Harris said with a sly smirk. “Do you look at that and feel possessive?”

It was Harry’s turn to blush. He stammered a non-committal reply, and then excused himself from the table. Their teammates catcalled as he retreated. Draco followed a moment later and found him in the kitchen, snickering uncontrollably into his hands.

“Is it really that funny?” Draco set his dishes on the counter and crossed his arms disapprovingly.

“I’m sorry,” Harry struggled to regain his composure. “I’ve been in the paper so many times for so many silly things, things that were really embarrassing. It’s kind of funny to see it happen to someone else for a change.”

“You’ve never been in the paper like that,” Draco jabbed his finger in the direction of the dining room.

“Come on,” Harry said. “You look great. You should be proud.”

“I need to go lie down,” Draco rubbed his forehead. Harry led him upstairs to his room. They flopped down on the squeaky bed and Harry curled his arms comfortingly around Draco’s shoulders.

“Zane was right,” Harry murmured into his hair. “I do feel possessive.”

“You should,” Draco said sleepily.

“Are you possessive?” Harry asked tentatively. He didn’t want to put Draco on the spot, but he hoped he wasn’t the only one who was head over heels.

“Don’t be daft, Potter,” Draco sneered without opening his eyes. “If anyone so much as lays a finger on you I’ll Avada Kedavra them.”

“Good,” Harry nestled his nose in Draco’s hair and they both drifted off to sleep.

Later Draco would regret that nap. While they slept their roommates nipped out and bought up every copy of the Daily Prophet they could find, cut out the photo from every single one, and posted them around the house. When Harry and Draco went downstairs for weight training later they found shirtless, sex-faced Draco photos everywhere. They were on windows, doors, on each chair in the dining room, in the utensil drawers, inside the vegetable bins, behind the coat rack, under the table, inside the broom shed, and tucked between all of the towels in each of the bathrooms. Draco was utterly horrified, and Harry struggled not to let him know how hilarious he thought it was.

Thankfully the Prophet ran another feature on the team a few days later, and this time included a photo of Magnus and Franz together, looking like a sexified tag-team. Draco laughed uproariously at their reactions when Antonio shared the news. Harry marveled at the way some things never changed. Draco had always been better at dishing it out than he was at taking it. He had matured over the years, especially in the months since graduation, but that part of him remained the same. It was somehow simultaneously comforting and annoying. It was comfortingly annoying.

Stella, Vaishali, and Ginny were featured in the weekend edition, but they were depicted as tough and athletic, which made the photo distinctly less funny. Not that Harry and Draco could have gotten away with laughing at Ginny, anyway. Her opinion of their relationship had begun to soften, an evolution Harry was carefully nurturing for everyone’s sake, but he didn’t think she’d gotten to a point where she would take kindly to their mockery, no matter how friendly.

On Saturday evening Tex and Nigel showed up at the house dressed for a formal occasion. They found Harry and Draco curled up together in the drawing room and ordered them upstairs with a pair of tuxedos. They apparently were to be in attendance at the fundraiser.

“I have no idea how to do this,” Harry held up a cummerbund and a tie as he entered Draco’s room.

“You’re also missing your cufflinks,” Draco pointed out as he helped Harry get himself sorted.

“I don’t know how to do those, either,” Harry was embarrassed, suddenly feeling low-class and unprepared for the formal event ahead.

Draco fastened his cummerbund, tied his tie, and threaded his cufflinks. He then helped Harry into his jacket and straightened his collar and shoulders. They headed back downstairs and found Tex and Nigel on the back porch with their casually attired team.

“Why do they get to go?” Levi sounded insulted. “What about the rest of us?”

“Seekers and Keepers generally attend the fundraiser,” Nigel told him in an uncompromising tone. “That’s how it’s always been done.”

“Bollocks,” Levi muttered.

“Y’all stay focused on good thoughts tonight,” Tex said. He was wearing a black cowboy hat to coordinate with his tuxedo. “By the time it’s over we should know if we’re getting our exhibition games. If we get those, we’re as good as in the League.”

“Good luck,” Vaishali said. The others murmured their support.

“Port Keys all around,” Nigel passed one each to Tex, Draco and Harry.

With a tug and a blur of motion they were standing in an alleyway beside an elegant old hotel. They could see traffic passing on the street down at the end, but Nigel and Tex led them the opposite way, towards an unmarked door.

“This place serves muggles and wizards,” Tex warned them. “Make sure you stick to our section and don’t go wandering off into the public areas.”

Harry reached out and squeezed Draco’s hand. His palm was sweaty, and he knew there was no hiding the nervous perspiration on his brow. Draco squeezed back and gave him a reassuring smile. Then he twisted the smile into a haughty raised-brow sneer. Then he glared. Harry laughed, which was exactly what Draco was going for.

“None of that tonight, you hear?” Tex looked back and pointed at their hands. “You keep it straight until we get our golden ticket. I don’t need those old farts finding a reason not to let us in.”

“Keep it straight, he says,” Draco muttered, dropping Harry’s grip.

They entered through the innocuous door and were immediately surrounded by an opulent lobby with enchanted fountains and charmed ceilings that shifted with colors and swirls of clouds. Harry gawked openly, unused to such extravagance, as well as the need to play it cool and hide his amazement.

“This way, fellas,” Tex waved them forward to the concierge desk. They each verified their identities and were directed to a ballroom at the top of the sweeping grand staircase.

“Now you two just worry about mingling,” Tex told them. “Tell anyone who will listen how good you are at Quidditch. Talk shop, be charming, make them like you. Got it?”

“Sounds easy enough,” Draco snorted. “Shall I take my shirt off?”

“Very funny,” Tex said sternly. “There will be dinner, then speeches, and by the end of that bit we should be in. Make a good impression.”

They entered the ballroom and Tex and Nigel strode away, leaving them lingering in the doorway. Harry’s eyes were dazzled by the sight of the room. Enormous pillars supported an impossibly high ceiling. Gargantuan marble statues flanked the raised speaking platform at the end of the hall. Intricately inlaid tiles wove elaborately around the floor and walls. The room was suffused with a rich golden glow and the soft scent of gardenia petals. Shimmering crystal chandeliers hovered above each sumptuously decorated table, and everywhere they looked the finest and richest members of the wizarding community milled about. Harry was in over his head.

“My mother is here somewhere, mark my words,” Draco muttered. “This is precisely the kind of event she’d attend for the sake of being seen.”

Harry was rooted to the spot and completely speechless. He glanced at Draco and tried to squash his rising anxiety. His hands plucked absentmindedly at the pleats of his cummerbund as though they no longer answered to the authority of his brain.

“Come on, let’s get you a drink,” Draco clapped him on the shoulder and led him to the bar. He ordered a glass of champagne for each of them, and made sure Harry noticed that it was charmed to shift in multicolored hues in the glass. Only the finest.

They strolled casually through the crowd, and Draco greeted a familiar face here and there. They saw royalty and political figures, and whenever possible he whispered names and ranks to Harry so he would know who they were mingling with. The champagne helped Harry’s nerves, but not enough for him to feel comfortable approaching anyone on his own.

They paused to speak with a group of women whom Draco apparently knew from his mother’s social circle. The older women flirted shamelessly, paining him in a terribly awkward way. Harry was distinctly uncomfortable as they reached with jewel-encrusted fingers to touch his scar and squeeze his arms. He laughed and ducked his head and made small talk, but he felt a bit green around the edges.

“My goodness, what a difference a summer makes,” a voice came from behind.

Draco bowed respectfully to his mother. “I thought I might see you here,” he said.

“Heaven forbid you send an owl to let me know what’s going on in your life,” Narcissa said coolly. She leaned forward and air-kissed just above his cheek.

“As warm and affectionate as ever, Mother dear,” his voice was strained.

“Don’t be ill tempered, Draco,” she raised her eyebrow in a way that said she meant business. Her friends exchanged a look, knowing what that eyebrow meant when used on their own children.

“You remember Harry Potter,” Draco said.

Harry could feel the nervousness radiating off of Draco like a heat lamp. This wasn’t just a reintroduction. This was introducing the man he was involved with to his mother. Of course, she didn’t know that, but Draco did. And Harry could practically see the fear welling up inside of him.

“Nice to see you again, Madam Malfoy,” Harry bowed respectfully. He actually felt a bit less anxious now that he was finally greeting a familiar face. He tried to catch Draco’s eye and let him know everything was fine, but the blond Slytherin was focused trepidatiously on his mother.

“A pleasure,” she said with a forced smile. She was clearly not thrilled to see him. She moved on to her friends and greeted each of the women with an air kiss.

Draco eyed Harry and nodded for him to follow. He strode quickly to the edge of the ballroom and ducked behind one of the enormous pillars. Harry checked over his shoulder as they rounded the marble column to make sure no one was watching them escape.

“I have to tell her,” Draco said. “I have to tell her tonight.”

“Tex said to keep it quiet until after the speeches,” Harry reminded him.

“I can’t risk something getting out, some kind of gossip,” Draco grasped his arm desperately. “I can’t let her find out from anyone but me.”

“Nothing is going to get out,” Harry reassured him. “We’ll keep our distance until we get home.”

“She has to know, I have to tell her,” Draco shook his head. “Will you be okay on your own for a bit?”

“I won’t be any worse off.” He withdrew his wand and nodded for Draco to do the same. He muttered an incantation and touched the tips together. “So you can find me when you’re done,” he explained.

Draco looked around furtively to make sure no one was around and dropped a fast kiss on Harry’s mouth. He then straightened his shoulders and marched back to his mother’s social circle. Harry watched him go, and hoped he was making the right decision. Sometimes he was so fragile about being with Harry, so unsteady and so unsure, that he worried it would take only a slight shift to drive him away again.

He wandered back into the crowd and smiled vaguely at anyone who made eye contact with him. He was used to being recognized but this was much different from being spotted on the street or in a pub. He stopped by the bar for another drink and felt someone hover at his elbow.

"Mister Potter, I presume," the man said quietly in his ear. Harry shrank back and resisted the urge to brandish his wand.

"I'm no threat," the man spotted his defensive stance. "My name is Satcher Sutterly, I'm with the Ministry of Magic." Mr. Sutterly was a slim, middle-aged man with sharp eyes and a quiet stillness about him.

Suddenly Harry spotted the telltale signs. "You're an Auror," he said.

"Correct."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mister Sutterly," Harry sipped his drink and tried to act as though he socialized like this every day.

"My colleagues and I noticed you when you arrived. We would appreciate the chance to speak with you, if you would indulge us."

Harry obediently followed him to the far corner of the room, where a cluster of three more Aurors sat at the base of one of the enormous statues that flanked the stage.

"Harry Potter," a diminutive blonde girl with blue lipstick and an official Auror potions holster strapped across her evening gown jumped up to shake his hand.

"A pleasure," Harry missed her name as a young man with a dozen earrings in each ear and a black, intricate tattoo across one half of his face rose to grasp his hand next.

The third man, an older gentleman with dark hair and a drink in his hand simply nodded. Harry knew the Ministry had started heavily recruiting after the war to make up for its staff losses. These four were probably either transferred in from another district or were fresh out of training. Harry realized he would be nearing the end of his training soon if he had followed the Auror path.

"Thought you'd be joining us when you graduated," Mr. Sutterly waved for Harry to have a seat. "I saw your N.E.W.T. results, you would have gotten in without a problem."

"Maybe I'll apply when I'm too old and broken to play Quidditch anymore," Harry chuckled uncomfortably.

"It's not a glamorous service we provide," the older gentleman said, "but it's an important one."

"Someone with your skills is sorely needed right now," Mr. Sutterly added.

"I think you'll do brilliantly without me," Harry said. "I would be no good at it anyway. My heart's not in it. I've spent my whole life either chasing or running from evil. I've done my time."

"He's done his time, he says," the older gentleman snorted.

"Leave off, McGough," the blue-lipped girl said. "As soon as any of us dies and comes back in the line of duty, we can criticize. Until then, shut your gob."

"So I suppose that answers that," Mr. Sutterly said. "There's no convincing you to give up your current pursuit to join our ranks."

Harry had to laugh. "You didn't really think I would, did you?"

"No," he jerked his head in the direction of the blue-lipped girl. "But Karla here was desperate to meet you and it seemed like a good opportunity to ask."

"You're a hero of mine," the girl sat next to him and clasped his hands. "It's truly an honor to have the chance to speak to you."

"Well," Harry deftly removed himself from her grip and shuffled down the length of the sofa. "I'm nobody, really. Right place, right time."

"Bollocks," she swore vehemently.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and wondered where Draco was. He had no idea where Tex and Nigel had gotten off to, either. He spotted a familiar face, then realized it was the coach of the Caerphilly Catapults, who he probably ought to avoid.

The Aurors were a pleasant enough group, although Harry had never felt such intense subtext buried beneath small talk before. They were hyper-alert, their eyes constantly on the move as they observed the ebb and flow of guests around the great hall. Harry envied their skills, and he knew they were doing important work. But he also noted the isolation, the way they were set apart from the other attendees.

He thought about his friends, his teammates, and knew he had no desire to withdraw from them. No interest in becoming strange and elite. It occurred to him for the first time that no matter what he said, he had no intention of ever becoming an Auror. The passion for the pursuit of darkness and mysteries had left him. And maybe he was okay with that.


	15. Chapter 15

Draco's stomach twisted and churned and his lungs refused to draw a full breath of air as he crossed the ballroom floor. He struggled with fight or flight, but he couldn't decide which fate he'd rather flee from: the one where he faced his mother and admitted he was romantically entangled with Harry Potter, or the one where she read it in the gossip columns and accused him of publicly humiliating her.

The latter was definitely worse. Public humiliation was an unforgivable sin in the Malfoy household. He hoped homosexuality was less so.

“Mother,” he said politely as he rejoined her social group. “May I speak with you for a moment?”

“Certainly, darling,” Narcissa’s tone was much warmer now. Draco wondered if she had realized what his status was at this event. He was the star Keeper of an up and coming Quidditch team, someone who had been featured in the paper, and someone who had captured the attention of her friends. Their envy was her most coveted prize That he was her son, her bloodline, gave her a bit of renewed pride, he could tell.

They exited the ballroom and found a small unoccupied lounge off of the corridor. Draco closed the door and gestured for her to sit. He sat next to her and grasped her hands in his.

“It’s good to see you,” he started nervously.

“It’s good to see you, too,” she smiled softly. Now that they were alone she was a bit more relaxed, a bit more motherly than she had been in the ballroom. It was a familiar dynamic. She saved her affection for private, deeming it too unseemly for public display. “The house has been so empty without you,” she added.

“But you’ve kept busy, I assume,” Draco said. He suddenly realized how much he had missed his home.

“As one does,” she waved her hand dismissively. “What did you want to speak with me about, darling?”

“Well,” he swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

“I saw you in the paper,” she interrupted him with a sly wink. “My son, the superstar.”

“Not quite yet,” he chuckled ruefully. “If they let us in the League, maybe.”

“I have it on good authority that you’ll have no problems there,” she assured him. “Tonight is a formality.”

“That’s great,” Draco had to catch himself before he gushed too much. Narcissa would never tolerate it.

“Go on, dear,” she nodded for him to proceed.

“Well,” he said again.

“I didn’t realize Harry Potter was on your team,” she interrupted him again. “I saw something about him in the paper a few weeks back but I didn’t make the connection. Are you two getting along?” she grimaced slightly, implying in that one little expression the depth and breadth of the conflict of war.

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said, trying to figure out how to word it properly.

“You don’t have to take me aside to tell me you’ve become friends with Harry Potter,” she said as though he were silly.

“No,” he shook his head. “Mother, listen to me.”

“I’m right here, darling.”

“Mother,” he took a deep breath. “I need you to know that I’m seeing someone. And it might end up in the paper. I need you to hear it from me first.”

“Oh dear,” her smile evaporated. “You haven’t gone and fallen for a mudblood have you?”

“Mother,” he scowled at the word. He was so tired of blood purity. “The thing is,” he steeled himself and forced the words from his lips. “It’s a boy. I’m seeing a boy.”

Narcissa regarded him quietly for a moment. Finally she shook her head. “That’s fine,” she said flatly. “It’s common enough.”

“Common enough,” Draco spluttered. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Oh come now, Draco,” she said. “The practice of keeping a boy on the side has been around for thousands of years. Your father had that tailor fellow, oh what was his name?”

“What?” Draco’s voice cracked. His father had what?

“I can’t remember, he was around for a long time but I’m not sure what happened to him since the war,” she cocked her head, “I’ve never been much interested in his lovers.”

“I,” Draco couldn’t find words to express his confusion. “His what?”

“Did you think it was just you?” she laughed musically. “Don’t get me wrong, it would be easier if you hadn’t chosen this path. But it’s common enough, as I said.” She patted his hand, “I’m sorry we never had a chance to talk about this. The important thing is to marry someone suitable so you can bear an heir, and no one will care who you share your bed with. It’s practically common knowledge,” she added.

“No, Mother,” Draco squeezed his eyes shut, unable to process what she was saying. “I’m not talking about someone on the side. I’m seeing someone exclusively. Not on the side.”

“That’s fine for now,” she said reassuringly. “Sow your wild oats while you can. There will be time for marriage after you get this Quidditch thing out of your system.”

“You’re not listening to me,” he gritted his teeth and ignored the Quidditch comment. “I’m in a relationship. I’m not sowing my wild oats. I’m not interested in marrying someone for an heir.”

“That is not up to you,” Narcissa snapped. “Your father and I invested significantly to ensure a male heir for ourselves, and you will not throw away your bloodline. You are the sole bearer of the Malfoy and Black family lines. It is your duty to produce an heir."

“I can produce one without a political marriage,” Draco stood and paced angrily. “There are ways to do it without marrying someone I’m not interested in.”

“You will not bring a bastard child into this family,” Narcissa swore.

Draco whirled on her angrily. She knew she had gone too far. Her expression pleaded for forgiveness, even as she was too proud to ask for it. He knew what she was really thinking. Any child born outside of a carefully arranged marriage would be suspected to be unpure. Certainly any offspring of a union with Harry would be unpure, he being a halfblood and all.

“Please sit,” she said meekly. “Tell me about this boy. What is his name? What is his family like?” Her question was just half a step from asking about his bloodline.

“Harry Potter, Mother,” Draco said bitterly. “It’s Harry. You know all about him.”

“Oh,” her hand flew to her mouth. “Darling, no.”

“Yes, Mother,” he glared at her. “A halfblood boy who I have no intention of keeping on the side.” he gritted his teeth. “I will not ask him to share me with some inbred pureblood woman whose sole purpose is to birth a child so I can uphold your ridiculous ideal of blood purity.”

“Draco!” Narcissa snapped. “You mind your words. Do not forget who you are talking to.”

“Mother,” he quailed. He couldn’t stand up to that tone.

“Is that all you wanted to share with me?” in an instant her manner became crisp and cold.

“Yes,” his shoulders sagged. “I just didn’t want you to find out from the paper.”

“In my day,” she said as she stood and smoothed down her dress, “pureblood families knew how to be discreet and stay out of the paper. I fail to see how it is so unavoidable for you.”

Draco hung his head. He wished he hadn’t bothered talking to her. She always did this to him, made him feel small and insignificant. She could embrace him and fill him with the love of maternal caring one moment, and then crush him with disappointment and criticism the next. He didn’t know how to please her, but he couldn’t stop trying.

“We should be getting back,” she slipped her arm through his elbow and steered him towards the door. “You look very handsome tonight,” she added. “Although I don’t understand what you’ve done to your hair. And you’ve been working out too much. Too much muscle makes a man look like a farmhand. You don’t want to look like a laborer, darling.”

Draco re-entered the ballroom in utter misery. His mother had singlehandedly torn down every piece of him. She had dismissed his acceptance to a pro Quidditch team as a phase, she had told him he looked like a muscled oaf, and she had outright dismissed his relationship with Harry as a passing fling. He suddenly wished he could leave.

The wand in his sleeve nudged his wrist for attention. He shook it into his hand and felt it tug him forward. He followed it, angling towards a seating area to the right of the stage, beneath the hulking mass of one of the marble statues. Harry was seated with a group of people who all bore insignias of the Ministry of Magic. Unless Draco was mistaken, they were Aurors. Harry looked up and smiled as he approached, his relief palpable.

A warmth spread through Draco’s whole body at the sight of him. He told himself to forget his mother’s words. He wasn’t a child anymore, and he didn’t owe her his obedience. Right there was the most important person in his life now, right in front of him. Harry had never put expectations on him, had never tried to change him, had never asked him to be anyone other than who he was. It would be a disservice to set that aside in favor of his mother’s acidic judgement.

Harry stood as he drew near and excused himself. Draco nodded politely, fully aware that any Auror worth his title knew a Malfoy on sight and probably had opinions about his innocence. Harry gestured for Draco to follow and led him to the doors that exited to the lobby. He indicated that Draco should wait for him and went to the concierge desk on his own. After a quiet conversation and quick exchange he returned with a grin.

“We’re staying here tonight,” he said quietly, his cheeks pink with the effort to contain his excitement.

“Did you get a room just now?” Draco asked in surprise.

“Seemed like a good idea,” Harry shrugged. “No roommates to overhear, no squeaky bed springs. What do you think?”

Draco’s hands practically ached with the desire to touch him. He wanted to embrace him, to pull him close and bury his nose in his hair, to feel his warm body pressed up against his own, reassuring and comforting and his alone.

“I think it’s a great idea,” he said, wishing he could say more. But guests were filtering in and out of the ballroom and this was no place for a slip-up.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice emanated from the ceiling, “Supper will be served in ten minutes.”

“I guess we should find our seats.” Draco thought wistfully of the hotel room that would have to wait until later.

“What did your mother have to say?” Harry asked as they reentered the event hall.

“It didn’t go like I planned,” Draco said. He wished he could take Harry’s hand in his, just for the reassurance.

Harry regarded him sympathetically, his green eyes searching Draco’s and communicating everything he couldn’t say in words. Draco’s heart swelled. He stepped out of the flow of guests and checked around to make sure no one was within hearing distance. He looked intensely at Harry and swallowed hard.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Harry’s eyes widened. He whipped around to see if anyone had overheard. He blinked and touched his fingers to his mouth. Draco stepped closer and snuck a quick hand squeeze between them. “I love you,” he whispered again.

“I love you, too,” Harry whispered back, his eyes moist and his lips pressed together in a tight line.

“I just needed to say that,” Draco stepped back and put a conversational distance between them. “I needed to say it here, where I’m not supposed to say anything.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Harry said formally, his voice appropriately neutral for their surroundings.

“Gentlemen, do you need any assistance locating your table?” a waiter approached with a deferential posture.

“Please,” Draco gestured for Harry to proceed.

They were seated near the front, just a bit off center from the room. Having spent a lifetime being groomed in the art of detecting respect and insult, Draco instantly assessed their position as adequately inclusive without overstating their importance to the event.

Tex and Nigel were already at the table and directed Draco to sit to Tex's left and Harry to sit at Nigel's right. Draco didn't appreciate being separated like unruly children, but since they had the night ahead of them he decided not to argue.

Supper was exquisite, featuring several courses of rare ingredients and finely crafted servings. Harry remarked that it was the best meal he could ever remember having.

"It ought to be good, at 500 Galleons a plate," Tex harrumphed.

Harry choked, spluttering and bugging his eyes out in a very improper way. Nigel whomped him on the back and shoved a glass of water into his hands. Nearby diners eyed them disapprovingly but Draco returned a raised eyebrow and a haughty sneer.

"Sorry," Harry gasped.

"Get ahold of yourself, Specs," Tex glanced around. "Don't make a fool of us all."

"Sorry," he mumbled again.

When it was time for speeches Tex surprised them by delivering one of his own. He had notes in his pocket and had clearly come prepared, though why he hadn't mentioned it was a mystery.

He spoke in his homey accent, waxing nostalgic for the American football and baseball he grew up with. Draco had heard of both but had never seen either. Tex's poetic portrayal made him wonder if he had been missing out. The man could speak convincingly, Draco had to give him that.

He ended by speaking passionately of Quidditch, of his adoption of a new pastime with the same love for the sports he had grown up on. Draco felt his chest swell with pride at his words and knew undoubtedly that the rest of the audience was feeling similarly. When Tex finished the polite applause was just a bit less reserved than usual. Not rambunctious, of course, that would be unseemly. But enthusiastic for the setting nonetheless.

The speeches continued, with this official and that coach taking a moment to speak. The Seeker from last season's League Cup winning team gave a short talk about the importance of competition. Draco was unimpressed, plus he knew Harry could fly circles around him.

"He'd better enjoy it," Tex muttered for their ears only. "We're gonna take the podium next year."

"Damn straight," Draco nodded firmly.

Finally the League chairman gave a rather boring speech about the history of the sport, which Draco thought would never end. But he finished up by announcing the Manchester Maulers were to be officially inducted and would be placed on the schedule following two exhibition games. The room applauded with controlled enthusiasm again. Tex swung his cowboy hat over his head and hollered a "yeehaw," to everyone's delight.

As supper wound to a close the venue cleared the tables and replaced them with a dance floor. A band entered and played rousing old classics that even the stuffiest old families could enjoy. Tex and Nigel instructed Harry and Draco to mingle with the other Seekers and Keepers. They did so reluctantly, shaking hands here and there, keeping the conversations polite and short. The other players were clearly under similar orders to keep it clean, but Draco could tell many of them didn't think much of the newcomers. They were finishing their rounds when Narcissa showed up at Draco's elbow again.

"You two aren't planning on leaving without dancing, are you?" she eyed both Draco and Harry.

"Of course not," Draco extended his arm to his mother.

"Don't be silly, dear," she waved him off and grasped Harry's arm, pulling him in the direction of the dance floor. Harry cast a desperate grimace over his shoulder but followed obediently.

Draco didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed. She disliked Harry Potter. She disapproved of everything he stood for, everything he had done, and he was certain she could probably find a few personal reasons to reject him. Why would she dance with him?

Clearly she wanted to talk about Draco's admission earlier. He suspected she would find a way to explain to Harry the necessity of breeding in pureblood families. She would probably use that horrible phrase, "on the side," to try to convince him that it would be a rational choice. He would have to interrogate Harry upon his return and de-program him if necessary.

When the song ended Harry bowed to Narcissa and returned to Draco with a bemused quirk to his mouth. Narcissa headed in the opposite direction, without so much as a glance at her son. Snubbed by his own mother.

"That was interesting," Harry murmured. "Do you want to get out of here?"

"More than you can possibly know," Draco sighed.

They were nearly to the exit when Tex caught up with them. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded, his eyes flicking to their hands to make sure there was no contact there.

"We're exhausted," Draco said uncompromisingly. "We practiced all day and we've earned a reprieve."

"Tomorrow's a day off," Tex reminded them.

"But we're exhausted tonight," Harry said.

Tex's eyes narrowed. "I get it. Just be discreet. Don't let anyone catch you coming or going," he said cryptically.

"We'll be careful," Harry reassured him.

To his point, they decided to take the lift separately. Harry went first while Draco lounged near the fountain. Then a few minutes later he ascended in the lift, too.

They were on the top floor, all the way down on the end. Harry had sprung for a suite. Draco was more accustomed to penthouses but he knew better than to breathe a word of it. He rapped on the door softly with a cautious eye on the elevator doors. If anyone showed up he would pretend he was looking for his mother's room.

"Alohomora," Harry called. Draco stepped inside and latched the door behind him.

Harry was standing at the window, gazing out at the lights of London below. He had taken off his tuxedo jacket and was holding a drink. Draco slipped out of his jacket and curled his arms around Harry's waist, pressing up behind him and resting his chin on his shoulder. He gently removed the drink from Harry's hand, took a swig, and set it down on the credenza. He turned Harry to face him and cupped his face in his hands.

"Alone at last," he murmured.

"A long time coming," Harry smiled softly.

"What did that wicked witch say to you?" Draco asked, tracing his finger around the curve of Harry's ear.

"She told me about your responsibilities as a pureblood," Harry closed his eyes and leaned into Draco's touch.

"Forget everything she said," Draco stroked his other ear and smiled as Harry purred with pleasure.

"Even the part where she said she looks forward to seeing me at the manor?" Harry opened his eyes.

"She said that?" Draco frowned. "She's mad. I don't understand anything she does."

"Are we going to talk about your mother all night?" Harry butted his head against Draco's hand to goad him into resuming his petting.

"Quite right," Draco stroked both of Harry's ears sensually.

Harry drew him in and kissed him. Draco dropped his hands to Harry's shoulders and pulled him forwards as he walked backwards to the bedroom. Harry's hand flew down his shirt, swiftly freeing his tie and releasing every button. Draco deftly reached around and unbuckled Harry's cummerbund, then released his cufflinks. It was the most elaborate undressing they'd ever done, certainly more involved than shoving down jogging shorts and kicking off trainers.

They finally parted enough to remove their own clothing, preferring the benefit of speed at the moment. When they were down to their underclothes Draco seized Harry in his arms again and pulled him down onto the bed. Harry peeled his undershirt and underpants off, followed by Draco's. He pushed Draco's arms over his head and dropped his mouth to kiss up the length of his chest, stopping to roll his tongue across a nipple. Draco moaned with pleasure, thrilled that he could do so in the comfort of a bed without worrying about being heard.

Harry sat back and straddled Draco's waist. Draco's cock pushed up against the crease of his arse, eager and ready and yearning for contact. Harry winked at Draco as he decided what to do next.

"Come here," Draco pulled him back down by the neck and buried his mouth in his. He pushed with his tongue as he reached his hand between Harry's legs in search of his entrance. He rolled the other boy to his side and pushed a finger in, reveling in the sensation of Harry's body rising up against him. It didn't take long before he could insert a second finger, and then a third. Harry was as desperate for it as Draco was, a thought that made him even harder.

Harry rolled over on top of him again and whispered a charm, and suddenly Draco was slick and protected and prepared. Harry tilted his hips and sat slowly on the tip of Draco's cock, breathing deeply as he smoothly took in the entire length of his shaft. His knees braced either side of Draco's ribs and he curled his back to bring his mouth down to kiss again. He flexed his pelvis, rocking and pushing in very small increments, growing faster and more confident with every thrust.

Draco's eyes rolled back in his head and he let out a long, low moan. His head swam as Harry kissed him again and again as he pushed. He reached around and grasped Harry's arse and trailed his fingers up his back.

"Say it again," Harry whispered.

"What?" Draco struggled to speak as electric signals short-circuited in his brain.

"Say it again," Harry pushed deeper.

Draco looked up at him and was overcome. He felt his breath catch in his throat as he reached up to caress Harry's face, his open, caring face that smiled down at him adoringly.

"I love you," he gasped, and suddenly his eyes prickled and welled up with tears. He drew Harry down and wrapped both arms around his neck. "I love you, Harry. I love you."

"I love you, too," Harry laughed softly. "Don't cry, you git."

"I'm sorry," Draco said, possibly for the first time in his life. He squeezed Harry's neck and buried his face in his hair. He felt a tear escape and fought back the rising swell of gratitude that threatened to overtake him. "I love you," he said again with a shudder as Harry thrust and sent thrill after thrill up his spine.

"You'd better," Harry murmured in his ear. He pushed with earnest now, bracing his hands on the mattress and using the power of his thighs to thrust against Draco, driving his cock deeper and deeper.

Draco couldn't hold out. He preferred to let Harry come first but he was too awash in pre-orgasm thrill to keep it contained. He felt that familiar tightening down below and his back arched like a spasm. He pushed quickly now, grasping Harry's arse and thrusting into him over and over. A groan tore itself from his throat, and his fingers clenched involuntarily, digging into Harry's skin.

Harry stroked himself to climax and pushed down hard, then rose up and shouted at the ceiling. He came on Draco's abdomen and slumped forward, panting for breath, cheeks flushed with exertion. He slowly climbed off of Draco and collapsed next to him, then waved his hand lazily to clear away the sticky, cooling mess.

They laid next to each other, surrounded by the sumptuous bedding, not even thirty minutes into their stay and already sated. Draco had just enough energy to feel a bit embarrassed about his repeated confession, first downstairs, then again over and over mid-shag. He told himself he was going soft.

As though he knew what Draco was thinking, Harry rolled him into his arms and planted a kiss on his forehead. "I love you, too," he said again.

Draco buried his face in Harry's collarbone and inhaled deeply. He felt dizzy, completely unprepared for his overwhelming need for the boy in his arms. He couldn't make a joke, he couldn't snip and snark about it. He was stripped bare and vulnerable.

They laid together in silence for a bit, then eventually Draco slipped out of bed to visit the loo. He considered sleep, but the oversized garden tub was too much to resist. He cranked the taps and poured in the entire bottle of bubble bath from the toiletry basket. Soon bubbles were rising up out of the tub in great mounds of suds. He hopped in and sighed gratefully as the hot water enveloped him.

"Potter!" he called. "Get in here."

Harry appeared in the doorway, still naked. "That's a lot of bubbles," he remarked.

"I said get in here," Draco ordered.

Harry obediently stepped into the tub and laid at the opposite end. Draco extended his legs and fondled Harry's knob with his toes. Harry squirmed and batted his foot away. So Draco extended his foot further and stuck it in Harry's face.

"One foot rub, please," he said haughtily.

"Only if you do mine, too," Harry plopped his foot onto Draco's chest.

"That isn't a foot," Draco gawked at it in horror. "That is a potato with toes."

"You know what I like about you?" Harry asked suddenly. "You're always you. You don't change yourself to fit in with other people. You're a prat whether anyone likes it or not."

"You're right, that is pretty likeable of me," Draco said dryly as he squeezed the callused sole of Harry's foot.

"It's taken me a long time to figure that out," Harry said. "I knew I liked you. Actually, at first I just knew I liked to look at you. Then I started to like you. But for a long time I didn't know why."

"So you like me because even though I'm a prat, I'm a consistent and predictable prat," Draco raised an eyebrow.

"That's not what I meant at all and you know it," Harry laughed.

They squeezed each other's feet for a while as the suds around them slowly plipped and plopped and sagged. Draco laid his head back and let the warm water and the equally warm body beside him relax his muscles. He dozed a bit, and his massage gradually slowed until he was simply just holding Harry's foot.

Harry carefully stood and stepped out, then reached down and scooped Draco up. Draco sleepily pushed himself to his feet with his support and climbed out onto the bath mat. He let Harry wrap a towel around him and lead him to the bed. They climbed in together and nestled down in the luxury of bare skin on soft satiny sheets. Harry rolled Draco over onto his side and spooned him from behind, his arm draped protectively around his waist. He waved his hand and the lights dimmed all around the room. Their breath rose and fell together, and Draco drifted in and out of consciousness.

"Do you know what I like about you?" he asked softly, barely breaking the silence.

"What?" Harry's voice was thick with sleep.

"Everything."

Harry chuckled and stroked his thumb across the back of Draco's hand. He dropped a small kiss on his shoulder, and then they both fell asleep.


	16. Chapter 16

The first exhibition game was nearly a disaster. They chalked it up to nerves but Harry suspected it was due to a lack of unity. They had been practicing as separate factions, and this was their first time playing against an experienced opponent as a team. They just didn’t gel.

Harry circled above the action, watching Draco and Zane struggle for control as they each called contradictory plays to the other Chasers and Beaters. The opposing team’s Seeker stalked Harry mercilessly, watching him instead of looking for the snitch. He was used to that strategy, in fact Draco Malfoy had made it an art form at Hogwarts, But this time it threw him off of his rhythm.

Down below Draco was blocking way too many passes thanks to an inconsistent defense from his teammates. Then Antonio was hit by a Bludger and Ginny was sent up in his place. She was fresher and faster and helped reign in some of the formation errors but by then everyone else was fatigued from hours of play. It didn't help that the Snitch took its sweet time showing up. Harry circled and circled but all of the action was down at the hoops. By the time the little golden ball chose to show itself, both teams had scored more than a dozen times.

Harry blamed his broken rhythm for not spotting the Snitch first. And because the other Seeker was focused on him, he didn’t spot it first, either. It was Draco who spotted it, in between Quaffle shots.

"Potter!" he shouted, waving his arm for Harry's attention. He didn't care if the other Seeker saw him, too. Everyone just wanted the sodding game finished.

Harry spotted the little golden ball within Draco’s reach. He could have reached out and plucked it out of the air with two fingers. He found it ironic that Draco hadn't beaten him to the snitch once during house competition, but now that they were on the same team he could have pocketed it before Harry noticed. In the back of his mind he heard an echo of an argument, ending with, “practice snitch!” He smirked to himself as he wheeled around and fired off like a cannon.

He dove at top speed with the other Seeker close behind, coming in at a steep angle to try to intercept the Snitch before it could fly away. Harry kept one eye on the ball and one eye on Draco as they barrelled straight towards his position in front of the hoops. The grim determination on Draco's face said he would hold his position and defend their goal until the last possible second. This had all the makings of a collision. Harry didn't shy away; he knew Draco trusted him to mind his approach. Harry was gaining speed, pelting towards his target with unflinching aim. The crowd gasped as it became apparent that he was heading straight for his teammate.

The other Seeker hesitated and adjusted his angle, robbing himself of precious seconds. Harry didn’t falter. A Quaffle broke free from the mass of Chasers and plunged towards them in a speeding arc. Harry quickly calculated and knew Draco could stop it in time and still get out of the way. He braced himself.

He was close enough now that he could hear the rush of the Quaffle through the air over the noise of his flapping tunic. In the span of a heartbeat the Quaffle slammed into Draco's arms and he dropped like a stone to clear the path. Harry blitzed by so closely that his shirt tail whipped Draco's hair as he passed. The crowd gasped in unison again at what surely looked like a crash. But the instant Harry was past Draco shot straight up into the air and readied himself in front of the goals again. He hurled the Quaffle back to his teammates with a triumphant roar.

The crowd went mad as Harry pulled up from his dive with the Snitch held aloft in his hand. The announcer called the win for the Manchester Maulers and the players descended for an ecstatic pile-on. They hefted Harry into the air and paraded him to the center of the pitch, and even Draco grinned at the celebration. He didn't gripe that he had seen the Snitch first, that he'd proven his worth as a Keeper, that he'd played in perfect sync with Harry's dive to defend the goal to the end. It was the Seeker's moment and for once Harry knew that Draco was proud of him instead of jealous.

As that thought passed through his mind Magnus grabbed Draco from behind and he and Franz hoisted him aloft. He flailed his arms as he ascended unexpectedly and joined Harry above the throng. His eyes were wide, stunned by the recognition, and Harry was thrilled to see him struck speechless by the unsolicited attention. How many times had he clamoured for praise at school, only to be recognized now when he had finally let go of his envy? Harry stretched across the heads of their teammates and clasped Draco’s hand in mutual victory.

The crowd descended from the stands and rushed the field. Tex and Nigel appeared in the sea of faces below as Harry and Draco were passed from shoulder to shoulder. The celebration went on for several minutes until the officials had enough and ordered the field cleared of attendees.

"Harry!" a shriek rose in the distance as Hermione and Ron shoved their way through the crush of bodies. Hermione threw herself at Harry with an excited scream and Ron babbled with incoherent ebullient praise. Harry could do nothing but grin and let them gush. Ron was so swept up in his excitement that he actually seized Draco's hand and pumped his arm in congratulations. Hermione was more reserved, instead offering her appreciation with a wave.

"I couldn't have done it without him," Harry grinned, throwing his arm around Draco's shoulders.

"You'd be nothing without me," Draco quipped with false arrogance.

Ron frowned. Draco had forgotten that his former classmates had never understood the way he used arrogance for effect.

"He's joking," Harry said.

"I'm joking," Draco repeated with a shrug.

"Specs! Blondie! Locker room!" Tex hollered from the sidelines.

"Did he just call you Blondie?" Ron's eyes bugged out.

"Don't get any ideas, Weasley," Draco growled. "Although you have my permission to call him Specs if you'd like."

Draco strolled away casually, but Harry recognized the nervous stiffness in his gait. He understood his internal conflict. It was one thing for them to bury the hatchet and shag each other senseless. It was another thing to face their former schoolmates, knowing that they had shagged each other senseless.

"He's so strange," Hermione said as Draco ambled to the locker room.

"I know,” Harry grinned. “It's brilliant.”

Back in the changing area the rest of the team was celebrating enthusiastically. Tex gathered them around and praised them for a thrilling win and the great press the close game would make. Then Nigel stepped up and berated them for their poor communication during the first hours of the game. The way Nigel saw it, both Zane and Draco bore responsibility for the contradictory calls that had resulted in botched plays. He then informed them that they would spend the time until their next exhibition match running drills and improving their gameplay.

After they changed they all headed to the pub together for a celebratory drink. Hermione and Ron were already there waiting for them when they arrived. Harry could sense the awkward hesitation in Draco and his friends as they sat down. No use pussyfooting around about it, he thought. Sometimes the direct approach was best.

“Listen,” Harry said bluntly as they settled in with their first pint of the evening. “I know we haven’t all seen eye to eye in the past. But I want you to set that aside and really try to give each other a chance. For me.”

“That's asking a lot, Harry,” Hermione said.

“I’m really quite lovely,” Draco said, his sardonic wit his only shield. Harry couldn’t quite conceal a smirk.

“So you’re friends now?” Ron asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” Harry said emphatically. “And I want you to get to know him from scratch.”

Ginny appeared just then and overheard Harry’s comment. She squeezed in next to Ron and rolled her eyes. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?” she asked. “Whoever thought Harry and Malfoy would be a couple?”

“And there it is,” Draco winced and hid his face behind his pint glass.

Harry laughed in surprise, then buried his face in his hands. “Oh Ginny,” he moaned. “We weren’t sharing that part yet.”

“What?” Ron and Hermione exclaimed at the same time.

“Oh dear,” Ginny put her head down in her arms.

“You two--” Ron couldn’t finish.

“Keep it down,” Harry waved his hands and made sure no one had overheard. “We’re not making it public news yet. Hardly anyone knows.”

“You and--” Ron tried again and failed.

“Harry, how could you?” Hermione demanded. She glared daggers at Draco.

“Don’t look at me, I’m as shocked as you are,” Draco said.

“I’m asking you to get to know him,” Harry begged. “If you can set the past aside you would see what I see.”

“Ginny?” Ron turned to his sister for help.

“He really is better,” Ginny said reluctantly. “I didn’t want to like him either but he’s not that bad.”

“That’s the greatest compliment anyone has ever paid me. Not that bad,” Draco couldn’t stop the dry ironic responses.

“I don’t get it,” Hermione shook her head. “You’ve all gone mad.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Harry raised his glass and knocked his pint back in three swallows.


	17. Chapter 17

Several rounds later the past seemed like a silly thing to get worked up over. They laughed uproariously as Harry and Ginny shared stories of training that seemed absurd from the outside. They teased Draco over his beefcake photo in the Daily Prophet, and speculated about the tremendous victories that surely awaited them once they were into the real season.

Draco excused himself to the loo, and found himself just a bit wobbly on his feet as he made his way across the bar. A quick slash and then he was on his way back again, but Hermione intercepted him near the bar.

“I want to talk to you,” she said, her face flushed from too many drinks. “Outside.”

"How can I resist such a tempting offer?” Draco waved for her to proceed to the door. The cool autumn air was a welcome relief after the stuffy, smoky pub. Hermione led him down the sidewalk to a bench and sat carefully beside him. She sighed deeply and pushed her curly mass of hair back from her face.

“Nice night for it,” he said vaguely, watching the traffic pass by. “Just do me a favor and keep your voice down.”

“How do you know what I want to talk about?” she demanded. He gave her a withering look. “Okay fine, you’re right.”

“No, this isn’t a trick. Yes, I treat him very well, thank you very much,” he said. “Does that about cover it?”

“Is it serious?” she asked.

“Define serious."

“Is this a long term thing or are you just seeing how it goes?” she clarified. “Is it serious?”

“That’s not a fair question,” he stalled. “If you’re asking if I’m serious, that’s one thing. If you’re asking if we’re serious, you’d need Harry to answer, too.”

“Okay fine, are you serious?” she rolled her eyes.

Draco pressed his lips together and gazed off down the sidewalk. He didn’t like being interrogated. But she was Harry’s friend, and she was important to him. “I’m serious,” he said finally.

“Do you love him?”

“I fail to see how that’s your business,” he couldn’t look at her.

“He’s my best friend,” she insisted. “I want to know if he’s making good choices.”

Draco sighed laboriously. Refusing to be put off, Hermione waited. “Do you love him?” she repeated.

Draco finally looked at her. She was so fierce, a petite fireball who had never let him get away with anything. He’d been cruel to her so many times but she had never let him win. He owed her something to make up for years of unkindness. He owed her an honest answer. “Yes,” he said.

“Have you told him?” her eyes softened.

“Yes,” he nodded.

“So I’m going to have to get used to seeing you,” she teased, although her tone was gentle. “You’re going to be around for the long haul.”

“For as long as he’ll have me,” Draco said seriously.

Hermione’s eyes welled up. She nodded and turned away to regain her composure. Draco understood. After all these years she couldn’t show any weakness in front of him.

“Granger,” he began. “Hermione. I’m sorry I ever called you a mudblood. I know that doesn’t fix anything, but it needs to be said. I'm sorry.”

She ducked her head and covered her mouth with her hand. She nodded and patted his knee without looking. “Thank you,” she said finally.

“Aren’t you going to apologize to me?” he asked.

“For what?”

“For punching me in the nose when we were thirteen,” he smirked.

“No,” she smirked back. “You deserved that.”

“You’re probably right,” he conceded. He stood and extended his hand. “Shall we go back in? We should probably be wrapping things up here soon. If Harry gets any more pissed he might forget where he is and snog me in front of the entire Daily Prophet staff.”

“I can’t imagine you and Harry snogging,” she said. “It’s the craziest idea ever.”

“It’s not that crazy,” Draco followed her inside. “No crazier than you snogging the Weasel.”

“True,” she laughed.

“There you are!” Harry’s eyes were half lidded and glazed. Ginny was leaning heavily on her brother’s shoulder and Ron was wobbling unsteadily in his seat.

“All right, it’s time to get you home,” Draco slipped Harry’s arm over his shoulder and hoisted him to his feet. “Hermione, can you manage that one?” he nodded at Ron.

“I’ve got him,” Hermione sighed tolerantly. “Can you get Ginny?”

“Sure,” Draco hoisted her on his other shoulder.

He slowly made his way through the crowd to the door, where the feat of strength captured the attention of the handful of reporters in attendance. They furiously snapped photos as he awkwardly shuffled his two teammates through the door and onto the sidewalk. His head was clear, thanks to the break with Hermione and the cooler air outside. The reporters followed them, calling questions about the game and asking what their plans were.

“He’s going to take me home!” Harry called, then lolled his head to the side and planted a kiss on his cheek. Draco’s heart froze. But then Ginny raised her head and planted a kiss on his other cheek.

The effect was comical and he managed to summon a weak smile as the cameras flashed. He would have to buy that Weasley girl something nice to thank her for her fortuitous timing. He said goodnight to the crowd and then focused clearly on the team’s farmhouse. With a suck and a pop they landed outside of the front gates.

He lifted the wards and hauled Ginny and Harry to the front door. Straining with the effort he managed to get them up two flights of stairs and deposited each in their beds. When he went back to check on Ginny she grabbed him around the neck and pulled him down onto the bed in a bear hug.

“You’re a winner, Draco Malfoy,” she giggled drunkenly. “You’re a keeper!”

“Well said, Weasley,” he pushed her arms away and struggled to his feet. He removed her shoes and helped her under her covers.

Harry was struggling to undress himself when Draco returned to his room. He was breathing heavily and pushing futilely at his buttons with fumbling fingers. Draco sat next to him on the bed and helped, gently removing Harry’s glasses and setting them on the nightstand. He stripped off Harry’s shirt and trousers and laid him down on his pillow. Harry’s eyes were closed and he was already snoring. Draco tucked the quilt under his chin and kissed his forehead, then returned to his room. He was disappointed to be finishing such an amazing day by himself in his own bed, but Harry needed to sleep it off.

When he awoke in the morning Harry was curled up beside him, huddled in a ball and pressed up against Draco’s side. He groaned when Draco stretched and tried to burrow in deeper under the covers.

"I'm dying," he croaked.

Draco snorted and crawled over him to search his discarded clothes for his wand. He found it and cast a restorative charm first on himself and then on Harry. He folded his arms across his chest disapprovingly as Harry tentatively uncurled and cracked open an eyelid.

"You kissed me in front of the press last night," he said shortly.

"I what?" Harry's eyes widened.

"Ginny covered for you," he continued. "Either accidentally or intentionally, I'm not sure which."

"That's a relief," Harry sagged back into his pillow.

"I need a shower. Are you coming or not?" Draco strode from the room.

He was in one of his moods. He was feeling commanding, demanding, and made it clear to Harry that he expected to be pleased. Harry obeyed willingly and sucked him with long, slow drags. When he was done Draco sucked Harry off with smug skill. When they emerged he led Harry back to his room and ordered him to get dressed. It was comforting to know he had found someone who let him have his bossy days without taking it personally. Some days he just needed to have his way on everything.

They went downstairs and found breakfast waiting for them. Their teammates were mostly assembled, some looking as though they had never heard of a restorative charm. Harry wandlessly fixed them up so they could face the day.

"You're in the paper again," Levi said flatly as they tucked into their meal.

Harris held up his copy and showed it to the group. At the top of the page was one of the professional shots of Harry and Draco standing back-to-back and shirtless. Draco winced. The second photo was at the bottom, a candid shot of him smiling with Harry and Ginny hanging from his shoulders, both of them planting a kiss on his cheeks.

"The top part is about our win. The bottom part is all gossip about how Harry and Ginny broke up and you're between them," Harris raised an eyebrow at Draco. "They're spinning it like you and Harry are best friends, but maybe you're the reason they broke up. A bit of speculation that you and Ginny are an item now."

"Rubbish," Ginny appeared in the doorway with a plate in hand. "I'd rather eat a Bludger than date Draco Malfoy."

"You're not exactly my type either, Weasley," Draco sneered. But they exchanged a tolerant nod, acknowledging last night's familiarity.

The day was an easy one for a change, but even on a day off they found it hard to be inactive. Antonio had brought a muggle football with him to the farmhouse and passed the time dribbling to himself on the back patio. No one paid him much mind until Franz intercepted it and punted it out into the garden. Antonio chased it but Franz reached it first and drove it at full speed towards the Quidditch pitch. Soon the whole house emptied out and all eleven players entered a melee style football match where the only goal was to keep control of the ball.

Draco had never played real football before and was glad for the lack of rules, although he figured out quickly that his teammates would scream bloody murder at him if he touched the ball with his hands. He realized that it was a foot-only sport, which made sense given the name.

After a while Vaishali tried to coordinate a more organized effort. She declared Draco something called the "goalie," which he found diminutive and insulting. He was in no mood to compromise and demanded to be made whatever the equivalent of Seeker was. So she made him the "center" which sounded just about right.

Antonio was the opposing center and schooled Draco several times on passing and dribbling. He accepted the Chaser's superiority but declared himself a born natural, since this was only his first time trying. The rest of the group shouted down his pompous self-congratulations the way good teammates should. Draco marveled again that he had ever considered his Slytherin housemates his friends. In fact, Slytherin house seemed like a lifetime ago already.

Tex showed up and hooted and hollered at them as they barreled around the pitch, knocking into each other and relentlessly trash-talking. Around midday their energy petered out and they collapsed onto the grass with abandon. Tex had the house elves bring beverage service around and suggested that every day after a game should be football day. Except be called it soccer and rambled about the differences between football and American football.

Draco laid sprawled on the ground and listened to Tex's prattle as he squinted up at the clouds in the sky. He thought about one year ago, last September when he had returned to Hogwarts after the war. He was just emerging from his existence as a mindless drone who had marched to the cadence of his father's voice, until the Dark Lord had picked up the beat and drowned everything else out. He had been through madness and had seen more death than he cared to consider. He had led a hollow existence, pursued by his own death knell and fearful of his family’s fate. Emerging from that life was like being blinded by the sun after a lifetime in the dark.

He wondered how much time he had spent contemplating his own death. Fearing his own death. Wishing everyone else could die first. Willing to let others perish if it bought him another day. It was so distant. It was amazing what a difference a little bit of kindness, a little bit of friendship, and a little bit of love made.

Gradually his teammates climbed to their feet and went inside for lunch. Soon he was alone, staring at the sky and basking in the sunlight as a soft breeze ruffled his hair.

"Are you all right?" Harry's face appeared between him and the clouds.

"Perfect," Draco said, not moving an inch.

"You look peaceful," Harry smiled, "It's nice."

"It is nice," Draco closed his eyes and sighed.

"Are you going to sleep?"

"No," Draco said softly. "Just thinking. I'm trying to commit today to memory so I'll always remember it."

"Mind if I sit?"

Draco patted the ground next to him and raised his arm. Harry laid down beside him and rested his head on his shoulder. He squinted up at the sky, too.

"School seems like a million years ago," Harry echoed his thoughts.

"It's better now, isn't it?"

"Way better," Harry agreed. "I haven't nearly died even once."

"Me neither," Draco chuckled. "Strange, isn't it?" It was a gallows humor the others wouldn't understand.

"Although it wasn't all bad," Harry conceded.

"Of course not," Draco agreed. "But if I had to do it again I would do things differently. Like not listen to my father."

"What's it like not having him around anymore?" Harry raised his head and squinted at him.

"Quiet," Draco said simply. They laid together for a few minutes and then Draco asked, “Do you want to pop over to the manor this afternoon?”

“Do I want to?” Harry repeated.

“I think we should,” Draco finally sat up. “I feel like you don’t really know me fully unless you experience it.”

“I experienced it once,” Harry said flatly.

“That wasn’t normal,” Draco pointed out. “I mean like it was when I was growing up. Except my father won’t be there, of course.”

“If you think we should,” Harry said reluctantly.

“I do,” Draco stood and hauled Harry to his feet by his hands. “Besides, my mother practically invited you.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to see me,” Harry looked pained.

“She won’t,” Draco smiled apologetically. “But it’s important to me.”

“Then let’s do it,” Harry put on a brave face and followed Draco into the house.


	18. Chapter 18

After lunch they changed clothes into something a bit more presentable and went out to the road in front of the house. Once they were clear of the wards Harry grasped Draco’s arm and they Disapparated with a brisk pop. They arrived just outside of the front door of the house, neatly landing right in the center of the mosaic rosette that lay just outside of the threshold. Draco lifted the wards and pushed the door open slowly. Harry peered nervously over his shoulder.

To his relief the house looked normal. The sun streamed in through the lofted windows, the floors gleamed and the decor was surprisingly tasteful. Narcissa’s personal house elf appeared and bowed respectfully. “Master Draco,” he squeaked. “Shall I inform the missus that you are here?”

“Please do,” Draco breezed by and peered into every room off of the foyer to make sure everything was in its place. He checked over his shoulder to make sure Harry was still with him and paused.

Harry was rooted to the tiles near the front door. He clenched his hands at his sides and focused on his shoes, his familiar, comforting, unthreatening shoes. On the one hand he wanted to be here to support Draco. On the other hand it was hard to hold back the flood of terrible memories from the war.

“Harry,” Draco called. “Come here.” He held his hand out and beckoned gently. Harry forced his feet to move and slouched over to him. Draco folded him into his arms and squeezed him tightly. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s not like the last time.”

“It’s just,” Harry couldn’t finish his thought. He was overwhelmed by a strange disconnect between this brightly lit, pleasant space and the house of horrors he had visited more than a year ago.

“I know,” Draco said. “I don’t come back here much because of that.”

He took Harry by the hand and led him through to the back patio. He pointed at the lush garden that extended to the rear wall of the property. “You didn’t get to see any of that when you were here last time,” he said. “It’s sort of nice, isn’t it?”

“It’s lovely,” Harry said weakly.

Draco stroked his thumb across Harry’s hand and drew him back inside. They passed through the kitchen and then ascended the stairs to the second floor. Once again he glanced into every room to make sure everything was in order. He pushed open his bedroom door and tugged Harry inside.

“Is this yours?” Harry was stunned. “It’s enormous.”

“Imagine the shock of moving to Hogwarts and having to share sleeping quarters with the likes of Crabbe and Goyle,” Draco grimaced.

“I slept in a cabinet,” Harry said bluntly. “So school was like a luxury.”

“A what, now?” Draco peered at him, as though trying to understand the joke.

“A cabinet,” Harry repeated. He pointed to the built-in shelves along the wall of Draco’s room. “Maybe the size of that,” he said. “Imagine a little space under the stairs about the size of a cabinet. Put a cot in there, and that’s where I lived.”

“I don’t get it,” Draco was still baffled.

“Draco,” Harry cupped his face in his hands. “I’m not telling a joke. I literally lived in a cabinet under the stairs when I was growing up.”

“But that’s,” words failed him. “Barbaric.”

“I won’t argue that,” Harry shrugged. He poked around and discovered Draco’s walk-in closet and private washroom. “Unbelievable,” he murmured. “You spoiled prat.”

“I won’t argue that,” Draco echoed.

“You could roll over six times in that bed and never fall out,” Harry pointed. “And you could smother in all of those pillows.”

“Master Draco,” the house elf appeared again. "The missus is downstairs in the drawing room.”

“Let’s go say hello to Mummy, shall we?” Draco rolled his eyes and took Harry by the hand again. Harry appreciated the constant contact. It helped quell his fears of being trapped in this house again.

They descended the main staircase and went directly to the drawing room. Narcissa was sitting on a divan sofa, her elbow propped up and her ankles crossed. She wore a long, elaborate robe with intricate embroidery around the hem and cuffs. Her hair was loose, cascading around her shoulders like a pale, wheat-colored cloak. She smiled with tense politeness when they entered, and her eyes immediately honed in on Draco and Harry’s clasped hands.

"Come to rub my nose in it, have you?" she asked.

"Not everything is about you, Mother," Draco’s fingers tightened around Harry’s.

"So you're just popping by the manor to take a lovely hand-in-hand stroll around the property?" she smiled acidly. "Maybe choosing drapes for the day you inherit it fully?"

"He just wanted to show me where he grew up, Madam Malfoy," Harry said respectfully.

"If I remember correctly," she leaned forward, "you've already seen it."

"Mother," Draco warned.

"Well how do you expect me to respond when you insist upon bringing this boy into our home?" Narcissa snapped. "You are not being discreet!"

"You practically invited him at the fundraiser," Draco reminded her.

"You of all people should understand false graciousness, darling," she waved her hand dismissively. "Besides, I'd had a few drinks. Maybe I was emotional because of the speeches."

"You're making a lot of excuses, Mother."

"You know what I expect of you," she said.

"I am not entering a false marriage just so you can have an heir.”

Harry was stuck between two stubborn Malfoys who were cut from the same cloth. Narcissa was selfish and vindictive, and Draco could easily dip into the same well of petty emotions. They faced each other with reflected sneers, neither willing to back down.

"Then perhaps we should divide our assets and go our separate ways," she said. "Perhaps you would be happier on your own without a family name."

"You wouldn't disown me," he glared at her.

"Wouldn't I?" She stood and drew herself up to full height. Her fists were clenched at her sides in rage.

Draco's grip on Harry’s hand weakened. Harry squeezed back to show he wouldn’t let go so easily. Draco looked at him and pondered for a moment before turning his attention back to his mother.

"No, you wouldn't," he tried a different tactic. He spoke evenly, reasonably, without emotion. "You still love me and you don't want to lose any more family."

"Don't you take that tone with me!" she reeled back as though his calm voice burned.

"I will give you an heir someday," he continued. "You will have more than just me as family one day. But it will come from love, not arrangement."

"That is not up to you!" she shrieked. His refusal to rise to her outrage made her panic.

"It is up to me, Mother," he said. "You can be angry right now. And maybe you really will cut me off. But you can never take my name from me. You will always be my mother."

"I just want what is best for you," her anger faltered and her voice broke.

"Then trust me to know what's best."

Harry wished he could say that a mother who wanted the best for her son wouldn't hand him over to the Dark Lord, wouldn't let him become a Death Eater at sixteen. He wished he could say that Draco had only begun to understand what was best for himself when he was freed from the manic pitch of his parents' machinations.

"I can't talk to you when you're like this." She brushed past them and escaped to the foyer. "I don't know what they've done to you, but you are not my Draco."

"I am your Draco," he called. "Mother, please don't walk away."

But she was gone, up the stairs in a flash of crushed velvet and flowing blond hair. Draco swallowed hard, visibly struggling to keep her words from burrowing into his heart. Harry understood. If Molly Weasley ever threatened to oust him from her family it would destroy him. Draco was no longer a child, but Narcissa was still his mother. And he didn't know how to rise above her disapproval.

He was still holding Harry's hand. Harry desperately wanted to leave but didn’t know if he could ask for that before matters with his mother were resolved. But a moment later Draco gripped Harry's arm and Disapparated back to the farmhouse. They lingered at the gate, reluctant to go inside while still reeling from the confrontation.

"That was a terrible idea, wasn't it?" Draco asked softly. "I won't blame you if you want no part of it."

"What do you mean by that?" Harry turned Draco to look directly at him.

"I mean," Draco pressed his lips in a tight line, "if you and I," his voice caught in his throat. They had never openly spoken so inclusively. He shook his head and couldn't continue.

"If you and I are going to be together," Harry supplied.

"That's my mother," Draco's laugh was choked with pain. "There's no getting away from that. You would be signing up to be a part of that."

"I know," Harry nodded.

"And my father is probably never getting out of Azkaban, but let's say he does someday," Draco added. "You would be signing up for that, too."

"I know."

"And that bloody house. You'll have to visit sometimes because I have to visit it sometimes. And you'll never be able to forget what happened there."

"I know," Harry nodded again.

Draco's jaw dropped. "That's all you have to say? I know?"

"I'm not going to pretend to be thrilled about it," Harry frowned. "But like you said, it's a part of your life."

"It can't possibly be worth it."

"You don't get to decide that for me," Harry said firmly. "Being with you is like joining an exclusive club. It's up to me to decide whether I want to pay the membership fee."

"But I can't promise I’m worth the membership fee,” Draco said seriously.

"I think you are," Harry shrugged. "You don't seem to realize all of your own amenities."

"If I'm known for anything, it's my humility," Draco said

"I run an exclusive club, too," Harry smiled. "But there are reporters with cameras at the door and everything you do there might end up in the papers."

"You've taken the metaphor too far, Potter," Draco raised a disapproving eyebrow.

"My point is that I already knew about your family," Harry said. "It's not new information."

Draco took a deep breath and nodded, encompassing all of the unfortunate things there were to know about his family. Things Harry was already familiar with.

"But," Harry caught Draco’s hand in his, "I probably don't need to say this but I'm going to. If you think there's any chance that you could come around to your mother's viewpoint, let me know now. I'm not going to sneak around in secret forever. I'm not going to be kept on the side. If you think you might want to marry someone else for an heir someday, tell me. Because that's one thing I don’t want to be part of."

"Harry," Draco looked like he had been punched in the stomach.

"Let me know now," Harry's eyes clouded. "It will hurt more later if you don't."

"Harry," Draco grabbed him up in his arms and squeezed with all of his fury. "Never. Never ever. Don't even think about it."

"Promise," Harry squeezed him back.

"I promise," Draco buried his face in Harry's shoulder. "I swear."


	19. Chapter 19

The Manchester Maulers were more coordinated during their second exhibition game. In fact, it was the Chasers who won the game for them. They were sixteen goals up on their opponents with Draco blocking their own hoops like a brick wall. Harry lost the Snitch to the League's best seeker but their 160 point lead meant they eked out a victory.

Harry beat himself up for his failure after the game. He had never failed to catch the Snitch before. He railed at the unpleasant discomfort of loss. Draco was well versed in the feeling that followed a Snitch defeat, but he knew better than to mention it. Harry needed to wallow.

Nigel took Harry aside and spoke quietly and intensely, using his hands to demonstrate flying. Harry nodded miserably but seemed to connect with what he was hearing. Draco watched from the dressing area and hoped he would still be in the mood to celebrate.

Finally Nigel clapped his hand on Harry's shoulder in an unprecedented show of affection. Harry returned to the changing room and quickly shucked his uniform. Draco told him they could meet up outside.

Hermione and Ron were in attendance again. They were waiting with Ginny at the fence, and all three gazed unsmilingly at Draco as he approached.

"I know I'm not part of your special inner circle, but we're waiting for the same person so try not to hex me," he said. He folded his arms and stood near them with a defiant air.

"He does that," Ginny said with a roll of her eyes. "It sounds nasty but he's trying to be funny."

"Do your teammates think it's funny?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, for some strange reason," Ginny was baffled. "Harry seems to think its hilarious."

"You haven't cast a spell on Harry, have you, Malfoy?" Ron peered at him suspiciously.

"Maybe I should cast the same spell on you and we can have a three-way," the words were out of Draco’s mouth before he thought twice. Both he and Ron retched in disgust. "Sorry, over the line."

Harry appeared a few minutes later, his head down and defeated. Hermione hugged him and said he had done brilliantly, that he would get the Snitch the next time. Ron agreed. Ginny exchanged a look with Draco that told him they were thinking the same thing. But where Ginny would never say it out loud, Draco had no problem.

“Well I think Ginny and I were brilliant tonight,” Draco said, slinging his arm over her shoulders. “The Chasers were right on point, and the Keeper was skilled and very handsome.”

Harry looked guilty. He struggled to brighten his hangdog expression and reached out to both of them. “I’m sorry, you’re right. We won the game, we should be celebrating.”

“Honestly, Potter,” Draco sniffed. “You’re a complete glory hog.”

“I said I’m sorry,” Harry protested.

“Not good enough. You’ll have to make up to me later,” Draco waved for everyone to follow him out.

The two exposition games had been fun, but on the day of the Manchester Maulers’ first game of the season the teammates were terribly nervous. It was real now, real games that counted towards the League Cup. They knew there could be no mistakes. And that thought made nervous butterflies flit around in their collective stomach. It didn’t help that they were playing the Caerphilly Catapults, who had pursued Harry for their own team, and whose current Seeker had been quoted in the Daily Prophet as viewing the Manchester Marauders as “a pleasant bunch of amateurs.”

The locker room was quiet as they dressed. They could hear the swarming throng of fans out in the stands. As many people were there to see them succeed as fail. Draco told himself it should be no different than any game he played at Hogwarts. Some people wanted to see wins, others wanted to see losses. It shouldn’t affect their ability to play well.

Nigel gathered them around and gave them a pep talk, an assemblage of encouraging words meant to rally them for the fight. But Draco couldn’t listen. The pressure was on and he needed to find his focus. He hunched over with his elbows on his knees, wringing his hands together and chewing his bottom lip.

Harry was beside him, his knee bouncing with tense anticipation. His glasses were stowed away in his locker and his corrective lens goggles were pushed up on his forehead. Draco stole a glance and couldn’t help admiring the stern look of determination in his eyes. He had found his focus. He believed he could win. No, that he would win. Draco took a deep breath and visualized successful blocks. He told himself that he would not let one Quaffle through, not a single one. He would hold their opponents’ score at zero no matter what it took.

Finally it was time to head out to the pitch. The stands were packed, so much more than for the exhibition games. Draco tried not to quake at the tremendous roar that crescendoed as the teams arrived. They huddled for one last moment of unity, then clapped each other on the shoulders and agreed that they were unbeatable. Harry hugged Draco with one arm and wished him luck. Draco returned the encouragement.

And then they were up. They rose to their positions and waited for the official to call the start of the game. Draco prowled back and forth in front of the goal, bringing his broom around while keeping his gaze locked on the other team’s Keeper. In these last moments before the game started, he wanted to put the scare in the Catapults, to make them think twice about calling the Maulers amateurs. No matter how nervous he was, no matter how the game played out, he wanted them to know that they were facing a formidable opponent.

The match had hardly commenced when the first Quaffle came flying straight at the Maulers' hoops. Draco dove and blocked it, then immediately had to dive and block another. His teammates were clearly startled by the speed with which the Catapults had gone on the offensive. Zane called for positions and the Chasers organized quickly to put up an offensive maneuver of their own. Ginny corkscrewed between the Catapults' Beaters and put the Quaffle through the opposing goal.

"Nice shot, Weasley!" Draco shouted.

Ginny wheeled around on the return and pumped her fist triumphantly at him. They exchanged a fleeting grin and then Draco had to dive to stop another Quaffle. The pace of play was intense. Draco was drenched in perspiration in no time, and hoped the Snitch wouldn't make them wait long before showing up.

The score crept up slowly. In the second hour Draco let a Quaffle through and the Catapult crowd went mad. But Vaishali and Zane were in locked sync and managed to score twice during that time. The score was thirty to ten, far too few to make the Snitch end game irrelevant. In the fourth hour players on both sides started making mistakes due to fatigue. But the Snitch still hadn’t shown so it was too early to start swapping out.

Draco knew the order of events. Zane would swap out for Antonio, and Harris would swap in as Beater while Franz had a rest, then Draco would tap out for a rest when Franz tapped in as replacement Keeper. Eventually Nigel would have to pull Harry and swap in Stella as Seeker to give him a break from the tedium. Draco didn't want to see that happen. They needed Harry as Seeker. Stella was good but Harry's skills were the best they had to offer.

Zane potted another Quaffle just a second before Draco let a Catapult shot through. Forty to twenty. Too close.

A shout rose from the stands and Draco turned to see everyone jumping to their feet. Up above the two Seekers were accelerating at lightning speed. The Snitch had been spotted and the chase was on. Draco tore his eyes away and focused on the Quaffles. As much as he would have loved to watch the Seekers go, he had to defend his goal.

A bludger blitzed past his ear, nearly clipping him as it passed.

"Heads up, Malfoy!" Magnus called a moment too late.

Zane called the Chasers into an offensive formation. He was going to try to take advantage of the distraction of the Seekers to put at least two Quaffles through at once. Ginny led the charge, drawing off two Catapults Chasers as Vaishali and Zane hurled at the hoops. Vaishali’s scored while Zane’s ricocheted off of the rim. He cursed vehemently as the Quaffle was seized by a Catapults player. The score was fifty to twenty.

Draco blocked a series of shots, bounding around among the three goal hoops to protect them from the onslaught.

"Zane!" He shouted. "How about some defense?"

Zane called the chasers to order and they formed a battalion in front of the goal. Draco passed back the last shot he had fielded and wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve. He was running on raw adrenaline and wasn't sure how long the supply would last.

Suddenly he saw a scarlet flash from the corner of his eye, but didn't realize what it was until the crowd gasped in horror. Both teams looked up reflexively, suspending play for a fraction of a breath as they saw what was happening. Harry was falling.

The announcer shrieked that someone had thrown a curse, someone in the stands. Chaos broke out in the seats as Harry plummeted like a limp ragdoll towards the ground. Draco had no wand on him to try to stop his fall, so he did the only thing he could do and fired off as fast as he could to try to catch him.

"Franz!" he shouted as he sped away. Franz immediately took over his post in front of the goal.

Draco leaned harder into the wind than he ever had before. His broom creaked at the breaking point as he goaded more speed out of the straining Nimbus. In a strangely detached part of his mind he knew he wouldn't get there in time. But he kicked harder and tried to squeeze out another acceleration. He was not going to lose Harry, not to something silly like team rivalry.

From the far side of the field Draco could see healers already assembling and running towards the likely point of impact. Down on the ground Tex had his wand in hand and was casting a spell on the grassy pitch. Tex thrust his wand furiously and the grass sprang up and swirled around in a cyclone of greenery. The whirling cushion of grass rose to meet Harry and encircled him like a cocoon. His descent slowed as the writhing green nest shrank, bringing him to touch down on the pitch with barely a bump.

Draco landed hard, staggering and falling to his knees from the momentum. The healers arrived just then and surrounded Harry like a pack of hounds. Draco lunged to his feet and tried to dive between them to get to the fallen Seeker.

"Get back! Let us work!" one of the healers shoved him away.

"Is he hurt? Let me see him!" Draco was outraged by the rebuke. He lunged again at the huddle of bodies.

A pair of hands seized him from behind and hauled him backwards. He fought to free himself as the healers raised Harry from the ground and floated him in the direction of the medical building.

"Get off of me!" he roared. He railed against the restraint and desperately tried to follow the receding cluster of healers. His captor was strong but Draco was stronger.

A second set of hands seized him and together they dragged him kicking and thrashing to the sidelines. Up above them the game waged on, unable to stop without forfeit.

"Whoa there, fella," Tex grunted in his ear as he struggled. "Calm down. You ain't going nowhere until you calm down."

"Malfoy!" Nigel barked in his other ear. "Control yourself!"

Draco hauled up short and snarled, but he stopped struggling. His eyes were fixed on the low building at the end of the pitch where Harry's reclined body was being shepherded.

"Let me go," he said in a low, warning tone. Tex and Nigel held their grips firm. "I'm not fighting. You can let me go. I'm calm."

The hands on his biceps loosened and finally released him. He yanked away and whirled on them furiously.

"Son, you can't do anything for him now," Tex said soberly. "The fall didn't hurt him. But they need time to figure out what curse was thrown."

"It was a Stupefy," Draco said. "I saw it, it was red."

"It was too big for a Stupefy," Nigel shook his head.

Draco balled his fists and glowered defiantly at the two men. What did they know? Nothing, that's what. He would be damned before he let anything else happen to Harry without him. But he couldn't run for it, they would just stop him again. So he Disapparated.

He landed with a pop at the door to the medical building and shoved his way inside before a Petrificus Totalus could reach him. The corridor was packed with reporters, officials, members of the Ministry, and healers. Draco cared about none of them as he shoved angrily through the crowd. An apprentice healer stood before a door with crossed arms and an uncompromising stare. She leveled her gaze at Draco and shook her head.

"Is he in there? Is Harry in there?" Draco demanded, ignoring the protests of the people he had shoved on his way in.

"Yes but you may not enter," the healer said loudly so everyone could hear.

"You have to let me in. I have to know if he's okay." Draco tried to be reasonable, although he knew he didn’t sound that way.

"Family only," she said.

"I'm family," he said desperately. "Let me in, I have to see him."

"You are not family, Mister Malfoy," the healer shook her head. "Teammates are not family. Parents, siblings, and spouses only."

"I'm his spouse! He's my husband!" the lie escaped his lips with surprising ease. "You have to let me in."

The corridor silenced in an instant. Draco realized what he had just said. He realized a moment later how many reporters were standing behind him.

"You're married?" the healer sounded dubious.

"Yes," he insisted. "We're married. I'm his spouse, I swear."

The nurse glanced over her shoulder as though the door could tell her what to do.

"Great Merlin's ghost, woman," he bellowed. "Let me see my sodding husband!"

She scrambled aside and opened the door enough to let only Draco through. The three healers by the bed looked up in protest and started to wave him away.

"They're married," the apprentice at the door called, her voice saturated with bewilderment.

"What happened to him?" Draco was breathless with worry. Harry wasn't moving. "Is he going to be okay?"

"He was hit with an amplified Stupify," one of the healers said. "He's alive but badly stunned."

"You can be in here but you must let us work," a second healer pointed sternly to a stool in the corner.

Draco obeyed, although he was so tense that he thought he could hover above the seat on a cushion of anxiety. If he knew anything, he knew curses. He knew how bad Stupefy could be when unleashed in succession. An amplified Stupefy could be just as dangerous.

The healers were holding hands in a ring, murmuring an incantation in unison. The air seemed thick, and Draco felt the familiar prickle of strong magic up the back of his neck. A scarlet glow surrounded Harry's body, growing in intensity as the healers chanted. It was soon too bright to look at and Draco shielded his eyes with a trembling hand.

"Come on," he muttered. They were trying to lift the curse, to separate it from his body and disperse it. He had never seen this done before and didn't know what to expect.

The glow rose towards the ceiling, scarlet tendrils slowly pulling away like goo. The air was so thick that Draco could hardly breathe. His chest ached and heaved and he worried that he would pass out and distract them.

He peered between his fingers and watched for any sign of movement in the bed. Suddenly the healers rose their arms in unison and broke the circle. The scarlet glow shattered and dissolved in bits and fragments, and the air lightened and became breathable again.

The healers fussed over Harry, casting this and that restorative and finally, after an eternity, he moaned.

"Harry!" Draco jumped to his feet.

"Quiet," the first healer hissed. "He is very sensitive right now."

"Sorry," Draco hovered at the fringe of the room. "Is he going to be okay?"

She nodded. "He'll come around when he's ready. You can sit with him if you'd like," her tone was warmer now, and she waved him closer.

Draco pulled the stool over and sat as close to the head of the bed as he could. He lifted Harry's hand and squeezed it, hoping for another moan or a returned grip. Anything to show he was alive. Harry's fingers tightened just barely, his eyes still closed.

Draco bowed his head as an unexpected sob slipped out. He hid his face with his hand and tried not to let the healers see. He breathed slowly and lectured himself, talked himself down from the overwhelming fear that now wracked his body in the aftermath of the emergency. The healers saw through his posture and shuffled out of the room to give him privacy.

"Wake up, you prat," Draco said weakly as he wiped the tears from his eyes. He took a deep breath and steadied his voice. "Open your eyes and look at me, or I'll invite my mother to come live with us." It was the most shocking suggestion he could think of. But Harry didn't react.

Draco could hear the healers giving a statement to the press about Harry's condition. He could hear the shouting, stomping throng of people in the stands above them. The game was still going.

"Saint bloody Potter," he tried again. "Taking a wee nap while your teammates win the game for you. Wake up."

Harry's hand twitched and he drew a deep breath, but his eyes remained closed. Draco leaned forward and laid his head on Harry's chest. He listened to his heartbeat, strong and unfaltering. He sat up and gently brushed Harry's hair back from his forehead.

"I may have just told a corridor full of reporters that we're married," he said. "So it's safe to say the news is out. You have to wake up because I can't face them by myself."

Harry snorted and his mouth twisted into a smirk. He squeezed Draco's hand with surprising strength.

"You git, you're awake," Draco squeezed back. Tears sprang to his eyes again without his permission.

"You did what?" Harry croaked, cracking one bloodshot eye open.

"Well," Draco cocked his head. "I told the healers that we're married so they would let me in to see you."

"Tex is going to be furious," Harry opened his other eye. He smiled weakly.

"He's probably already mad at me anyway," Draco shrugged.

Suddenly Harry noticed his surroundings. "Where am I? What happened?" he looked around in confusion.

"Someone in the stands hit you with an oversized Stupefy," Draco explained. "But you're okay now."

"The last thing I remember is chasing the Snitch," Harry closed his eyes. "Then I woke up. And apparently we got married while I was out."

"They said family only," Draco said sheepishly.

"Is the game still going?" Harry sat up as a swell of cheers penetrated the walls.

"Stella took over," Draco nodded.

"We have to go watch," Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed and wobbled.

"Healers first," Draco strode to the door and poked his head out. The corridor was still packed with people. "He wants to know if he's free to go,"

As a group the three women returned to the room and checked Harry over. The grudgingly approved his release with the insistence that Draco help him walk. They gave him a list of symptoms to watch out for in case any part of the curse lingered. Draco drew Harry's arm over his shoulders and carefully braced him to the door.

"Don't give them any more information," Draco said warningly. "Say no comment until we can talk to Tex."

They pushed the door open and immediately camera bulbs started flashing. It would be the second time Draco ended up in the paper with Harry's arm around him. Those not holding cameras shouted questions.

"I'm fine, thank you," Harry smiled at the throng. "Still a bit stunned but getting better."

"No comment," Draco called as the questions turned marital.

They slowly worked their way down the narrow hall to the exit and pushed out into the sunshine. They were more than a quarter of the way across the pitch before the announcer spotted them and directed the crowd's attention downward. A swell of cheers washed over them as Harry Potter was proclaimed healed. Draco paused mid-field so Harry could wave and didn't even mind that he was the center of attention again.

They continued across the pitch as the game waged on over their heads. Draco glanced up and could see signs of fatigue in his teammates. He hoped the Snitch would be caught soon. They arrived at the sidelines on their end of the field and craned their necks at the action, but the Seekers were nowhere to be seen. The Snitch must be far away. The score was 90 to 60, with the Maulers in the lead.

"So when do you want to do it?" Harry asked suddenly, squeezing Draco's shoulder.

"Do what?" Draco tore his eyes away from the match.

Harry's green eyes sparkled. "Get married."

"What? Do you mean for real?"

"Well," Harry cocked his head thoughtfully. "The way I see it, there are two ways to deal with this. We either put out a statement saying you lied, or we get married and make it true."

Draco's heart pounded. "Do you want to?" He asked, his voice just barely loud enough to hear.

"Of course I do," Harry's mouth curled up at the corners.

There it was again, Draco thought. That open, caring, adoring face. His breath caught in his throat and for a moment he couldn't speak. He swallowed hard, worried Harry would take his hesitation as refusal.

Harry shifted so that they were facing each other. He slipped his other arm around Draco’s neck and ruffled his fingers through the short hairs at the nape. The gesture was affectionate, scarily intimate in front of the crowd of attendees. But Harry had always been less reluctant, less scared, less shy of expressing his feelings. He smiled and waited patiently for Draco to respond.

"Okay," Draco whispered, nodding almost imperceptibly.

"Is that a yes?" Harry's smile grew into a toothy grin.

"Yes," Draco said with more confidence.

"Brilliant," Harry pulled him in and kissed him deeply.

Draco's head swam with fear and exhilaration. Kissing in front of the stands was not something he had envisioned when he awoke that morning. But since it was out of the bag he figured he might as well make the most of it. He pressed back and kissed Harry with all of his heart.

At that instant the Seekers appeared in the sky above them and dove for the speeding golden ball. And another instant later Stella had it clutched triumphantly in her fist. The crowd erupted in cheers as the announcer called the game for the Manchester Maulers.

The team descended and pelted across the grass towards Harry and Draco, their fatigue suspended in the thrill of victory. Magnus swept Stella up onto his shoulders and paraded her around as the stands emptied out. Reporters rushed them with cameras ready, but Tex and Nigel appeared from the crowd and waved them off. They herded the team into the locker room and latched the door. Everyone descended on Harry, wanting to know what had happened.

"He doesn't remember," Draco led Harry to a bench and sat him down. He curled a protective arm around Harry’s shoulders and spoke for him. "The healers said it was an amplified Stupefy." He arched his eyebrow at Nigel, reminding him that he had disagreed with Draco's guess.

"Who would do such a thing?" Vaishali was visibly distressed.

"People have been aiming for Harry his whole life," Ginny said flatly. She wore an emotionless mask but her eyes glittered with tears. She looked at Draco and for a moment he feared she was lumping him in with that statement. But instead she seemed to be looking to him for support, as someone who could protect Harry from danger. He nodded in reassurance.

"It didn't have anything to do with his scar," Tex raised his hands as everyone murmured. "A fella in the stands had a lot of money riding on the Catapults. He was stupid enough to cast from his seat, and of course everyone around him saw. He got tackled and roughed up a bit. Then a body bind and a quick arrest."

"Someone did that for money?" Zane sounded outraged.

"Seems like he was desperate," Tex nodded. Nigel stood silently at his side, his eyes locked on Harry.

"The healers say he'll be fine," Draco said to Nigel. "Don't worry, he's still your Seeker."

"We have the two best Seekers in the League!" Harris exclaimed, throwing his arms around Stella. Her cheeks flushed as everyone shouted their agreement and pounded her on the back. Magnus's playful pat nearly knocked her over.

"One other thing," Harry finally spoke up. He looked around at the group. "We're getting married."

The group fell silent. Ginny stared at Draco, her mouth open with shock. No one knew what to say.

"I sort of told the healers that we're already married," Draco's cheeks flushed. "It was the only way they would let me in to see him. There were reporters around."

"So I figured as long as it’s going to be in the papers we might as well do it for real," Harry grinned.

"Well why not, I guess," Tex harrumphed.

Everyone started babbling at once. Hands were pumped, shoulders were slapped, and many hugs were exchanged. When the initial flush of excitement from the news passed Tex instructed them to say nothing to the press. He reserved the right to release a statement that would reflect well on the team. Harry and Draco agreed.

The team was in high spirits as they showered and dressed, which only improved when Tex announced the evening's drinks would be on him. Draco decided as he was toweling off that he would sit with his arm around Harry at the pub if he wanted to, kiss him if he wanted to, and leave with him however he wanted to. The word was out, and he wasn't going to wait for a press statement to stop censoring himself.

They packed up their gear to be whisked back to the farmhouse and set off across the pitch to the visitor entrance, where Ron and Hermione were waiting to join the celebration. Vaishali ran ahead with Stella and Harris, singing at the top of their lungs and laughing. Magnus and Franz followed at a more restrained pace with Antonio, and the others straggled along on their own. Draco scooped Harry's hand up and pressed his knuckles to his lips without a second thought about photographers or reporters.

"Do you want a traditional ceremony?" Harry asked. "Decorations, lots of guests, that sort of thing?"

"If my mother ever comes around she might insist," Draco rolled his eyes. "But outside of that possibility, not really. What about you?"

"I would be happy if it was just the two of us and an officiant."

"It can't just be the two of us," Draco reminded him. "We have to have two witnesses to stand up for us, at least."

His pace faltered. That was troublesome. He hadn't kept up with any of his Slytherin friends, and if even if he had he probably wouldn't think of them as friends anymore. Certainly not as people he would have at his wedding, outside of obligation.

"Don't worry, I'm sure we'll think of someone to be your witness," Harry anticipated his thoughts.

"It's kind of pathetic," Draco frowned. "I wasted my school years on friendships with people I didn't care about. And where has that left me?"

"I think you've landed in a good place," Harry squeezed his fingers.

Draco stopped and pulled Harry in close. "I think so, too," he kissed Harry without a care for the public setting.

"Malfoy," a voice called. "Can I talk with you for a minute?" Ginny was behind them, following the rest of the group across the grassy field.

"I'll catch up," Draco released Harry's hand and let him walk on ahead. He waited for Ginny to reach him and eyed her warily.

"Don't look at me like that," she said. "It's nothing bad."

"So you're officially saying you don't hate me anymore?" he asked dryly.

"I haven't hated you in ages," she said. "I might even go so far as to call you a friend."

"Would you?" he smiled in spite of himself.

"Sure," she smiled back.

"Well it's a banner day for me," he said without sarcasm.

She fidgeted and ran her hand through her ginger hair before speaking again. Finally she took a breath and said, "I'll understand if you say no, but I wanted to offer to stand up for you at your wedding. I thought you should know that I would be happy to do it."

Draco couldn't answer. For the second time that day he was too overwhelmed to speak. He blinked hard as the spirited girl peered up at him, watching for his reaction. He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

"I'd like that," he said. "Thank you."

"Thank you for making Harry happy," she said softly. Then to complete the day of unprecedented events, she hugged him.

"I don't know what to say," Draco said as he hugged her back. "I would have never asked."

"I know."

They walked in companionable silence towards the visitor entrance and their waiting friends. Draco could see Harry up ahead with Granger's arms slung around him as Ron thumped his back in congratulations.

"Harry and Ron are like brothers, you know," Ginny said thoughtfully. "Our mom sees him as another son. And Hermione and Ron are probably getting married soon. So in a way we're about to become one big family," she glanced up at him with a sly smirk. "Are you ready to join the Weasley clan?"

Draco tried to summon a glare but found himself unable to feel truly bothered by the idea. He ducked his head and chuckled and threw his hands up in defeat. "I guess I am. And I'm not even upset about it."

Ginny beamed at him, "Good." She slipped her hand through his arm.

"But I'm not taking your family name," Draco said with mock disdain. "Draco Weasley, who ever heard of something so absurd."

"You could hyphenate," she said. "Draco Malfoy-Weasley."

"Draco Malfoy-Potter-Weasley," he offered. "You know, there's something quite regal about that one." Ginny laughed and shoved him in the side.

"You're a nutter," she said.

Harry, Ron and Hermione broke free of the visitor area and ran towards them, shouting for them to hurry up.

"No I'm not," he corrected her. "But you did once get it right. You said I'm a keeper."

"That you are, Malfoy," she nodded. "You're a keeper.”

 

THE END


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